Wedding Gown Woes

This weekend, I was on a mission to purchase a wedding gown. My friends have been harassing me for weeks to get busy and get the whole dress thing sorted but after one attempt at a cute boutique here in town, I was completely intimidated.

So, I procrastinated. Big surprise there.

Then late last week, I was casually speaking with a business associate on the west coast. She asked me about my dress.

"Well," I answered, "I haven't actually acquired one as of yet." Silence.

"Didn't you say you were planning to marry in July?" Her voice got progressively louder and higher and I felt myself starting to sweat.

"Yes. But that is three months away." And I had grandiose plans to starve myself into a size two by then so it just didn't make good business sense to buy a dress only to have to take it back, right. What size would I order? How could I possibly know?

"Is this your way of backing out of the whole wedding thing?" she asked in a conspiratorial whisper, "Are you trying to get Dallas to elope?"

"Wha...? NO!" I tried explaining the finer points of diet logic to her and suddenly, she went Hitler on me, spouting off about order times, alterations, bustles, sewn in bras and did I think that I was just going to waltz in and buy one right off the rack?!!

Um...yes? And oh dear god, help me because apparently, my head was on fire.

So this weekend, I relented and called Erin for support. Erin is one of my bridesmaids. She is deliciously funny, smart and she just happens to have been a costume designer in a former life so she is accustomed to dealing with hysterical diva types. Not that I am one of those. I'm just saying...

Anyway, we arrived at our local cattle call for brides and immediately, I felt the need to put my head between my legs. I looked to the right and there was row after row of wedding dresses. Straight ahead were platforms with dressing rooms and mirrors. PLATFORMS! Brides to be were everywhere and they all had on the same thing: big ass petticoats and corsets. Where were they coming from? Stepford?!!

I needed a drink.

We were directed to sit down with a catalog and mark those dresses that interested us. Then, we were told that they would put us with a consultant who would pull the gowns from the racks and walk us through the rest of the process. Process? Was it really that bloody difficult?

After taking a black sharpie to the catalog, we were introduced to our consultant. We'll just call her Delta. Picking the dresses was easy. Working with Delta was like eating a bowl full of cockroaches: hard and revolting. She might have been all of twenty years old but that didn't stop her from calling me, "dear" and "honey" and not in that affected southern way but in a condescending tone that caused my left eyelid to twitch. She immediately commented on my visible anxiety and waved both of her hands in an "S" pattern in front of my face while chanting, "Feng shui. Feng shui" because apparently, I am easily confused with a room whose furniture needs to be rearranged.

I needed a drink.

She went on and on about how everything was going to be fine until Erin, seeing me reach for a stiletto, stepped in and said, "Okay! We've established that Beth is overwhelmed. Let's move on. Do you have her dressing room ready?" Poor Delta. She blinked, obviously stunned that we weren't finding her brand of charm palatable and directed us to the back. My room was labeled #13. Not that I am superstitious or anything. I'm just saying....

I was instructed to strip down, put on the "slip" and get the girls into the corset. The "slip" turned out to be a petticoat of the Little House on the Prairie variety. It was the size of a sheep dog and still, too small. We couldn't get the corset done up either so Delta being a sensitive, subtle girl, bellowed to the entire store about going up a cup size and getting a larger slip. I closed the door to the dressing room and looked at Erin.

"I think I may punch her," I said. "Do you have a flask in your purse? Hand sanitizer?"

At that point, I would have been content to suck on a moist towelette but unfortunately, Erin was fresh out. Then, Delta came back with a new bra and a slip the size of barn. I put both on, looked at myself in the mirror and thought that the Michelin man and I would probably make a good couple. Erin tried to help me into the first dress but Delta hissed at her, insisting that we wait. Then Erin disappeared and just like that, the store manager became our consultant. Unfortunately, even she couldn't overcome the disconnect between the models in the catalog and me.

THEY are stick thin.
I am a letter "P".
THEY looked fabulous in a wide range of dress styles.
I did not. Over the course of the morning, I looked like a white pineapple, a stripper and the future wife of the Glad man.

After trying on fourteen gowns, I lost my personality. So we left to get drunk lunch.

We met up with our menfolk, had a few cocktails and enjoyed a leisurely meal. Afterward, Erin and I went back for more wedding dress fun and I'll be darned but I actually enjoyed myself the second time around. Erin is extremely organized and had narrowed my choices to about ten gowns. She ripped the pictures of these ones out of the catalog and sorted them by style. Our luck was blooming and we were paired with a GREAT consultant who thankfully, was old enough to remember Johnny Carson. We'll call her St.Teresa. She and Erin understood each other and we quickly worked through several frocks. One or two made my heart beat faster but nothing bowled me over. Then Teresa suggested a new style that they had just gotten in because she didn't think that I should make a final decision without trying it on.

As soon as she pulled it out of the bag, I knew that it was different from the other bazillion togs that I had tried. It hugged me where it was supposed to and was forgiving in the trouble spots. Besides, my buzz was wearing off and we were getting dangerously close to having to eat again. Not that alcohol was influencing the course of the afternoon. I'm just saying...

I stepped up on the platform, looked into the mirror and knew immediately, THIS WAS THE ONE.

I might have shed a few tears.




So, to sum up the day's events:

Valium prescription: $20.00
Liquid lunch: $60.00
Wedding dress: $650.00
Crossing something off wedding "to do" list: Priceless

As a small footnote, I wanted you to know that I tried to buy the dress in a smaller size because there is no way that I am walking down the aisle looking the way that I do right now. Saint Theresa wouldn't let me do it. She said that dieting to get INTO one's wedding dress is right up there on the stupid scale with lighting a cigarette while pumping gas. She patiently explained that at this very moment, I have a dress that I am able to wear on my wedding day. It can be altered down in size, if necessary. Smaller dresses though, cannot be altered up. I thought that buying a smaller dress would be great motivation for sticking to one's exercising plan. Not that I disagree with her. I'm just saying...