Girls Girls Girls

So last weekend our annual local regatta took place and, as usual, I chose to host the Saturday night after blast party at mine. Mad? Yes. I have embraced that madness for a few years now. So the good, the bad and the ugly wend their bones up to mine for chilli and jacket potatoes for an after shin-dig party.  Sometimes it's fun; sometimes it's fraught but this year for some strange reason- it was full of a gaggle of pre-pubescent girls (offspring of friends and relatives), as my boys were off out into the wilderness and away from home.
So amongst us adults, screamed these banshees and I have to say for once I felt so very lucky to have boys. Every track on the music dock was changed with a: " OMG that is so rubbish!" Olly Murs, One Direction and Bruno Mars found themselves alive and kicking.
Thirty adults were at a loss in dealing with this feisty, feral near grown up female on-slaught until one brave soul (who may now be resting in Valhalla as I type) boomed:*ENOUGH!" and the flock fled upstairs.  Peace descended.  Us old and weary began to socialise once more and drink, drink and be merry. But all was deadly quiet from the harpies of doom. I felt within my very bones that this was not a good thing.  And indeed it was not.
I ventured upstairs- deathly silence . I had a feeling this was not so good. Where were these minxes? Where were these mixers of emotions?  I soon discovered. My wardrobe was  ransacked, adorned by some of these small pixies but for the most part generously littered around the first floor of my house.  Next I discovered the only small boy in the house that night quavering smeared with their warpaint - lipstick and nail varnish.  He was still breathing but in shock.
 Finally these small "Amazons" were spied in one of my boys' rooms adorned with my jewellery leaving their mark on one of my twin boy's blackboard (was their scribbling: a curse, a love note or a spell? Who knows?) and  attempting to hack into the said twin's facebook account.  When challenged, the eyes welled up and the amateur dramatics ensued - worthy of a true Oscar.  I have to be honest I laughed.  Three hours later at one in the morning, my laugh was more of a sob.