At first glance into the sea of taffeta and satin and lace I was overwhelmed with all the choices. But worse was being overwhelmed in the dressing room that I shared with the bridesmaids and mother of the bride all glaringly the size of munchkins. Not the fat munchkins, the tiny ballerina munchkin. I felt like Glenda the Good Grief Kill Me Now Witch. They were barely taking up space. My oxygen intake threatened to suck the air out of their little tiny lungs. I feared for their safety. If they all weren't so darned delightful and just cute enough to put in my pocket and take home I would have left before the fun started. And the key to having lots of fun when you're in an uncomfortable place is to smile really really big ,strike a ridiculous pose, talk and laugh loudly and intentionally put things on wrong. Then the staff just feels sorry for you and becomes extremely helpful. Plus their level of concern increases when they see you repeatedly try to zip up a silk gown while asking " Are you sure this is a true size 8? " While leaving the tag of the shirt you just took off in full view displaying a stretched out size 12. Whatever.
This is the tale of finding the ever elusive Mother of the Groom dress. In an even more elusive The Shop of the Mother of the Groom dress. I'm a rather pessimistic person when shopping for clothes. As in I'm not a fan. I prefer a sloppy pair of jeans and an old t-shirt. But it was time to at least look. And so with the encouragement of the bride's mom I began my search. First I eliminated anything the color of sherbet. And knit. And short. And strapless. That left 10 dresses. Then anything that had more sequins than sense. Then anything that cost more than my monthly house payment. That left 5. But one of those was on the saleswoman. Or girl. She was maybe 19 with purple hair. On one side of her head. But I'm not judging. I've had hair the wrong color. Green once. But I digress.
After perusing the carousels of horrors I picked the a few out. In my defense I had too much caffeine that morning, they're lucky I didn't try on hats. Which I wanted. I love hats.
This beige/lace dress was the first one I tried on. Those are MOG gang signs. First I argued with the clerk as to whether or not that was the same gown in the picture that was on the wall. I still have reservations. And it smelled funny. I tried NOT to think about how many other people have tried on these dresses. I already have issues with bowling shoes. At least I have on socks. If you look closely you can see the Mother of the Bride in the reflection of the mirror. I'm impressing her with my runway skills.
Here we have the blue dress with brooch. The brooch is specifically designed to distract the eyes from the hips. And waist. And chest area. So people will be mortified at the amount of sun speckled neck skin you so bravely chose to share. I never know what to do with my arms. I wish this had pockets. And a dickey.
The while silk dress top was SMALL. I was waging war with the buttons up the side while they were MIA. I call this one my Helen Miren twin with a gland problem. Still don't know where to put my arms.
The third dress I've named "Right Boob Dominate". I normally have a lot more loose skin on my arms but it got stuck in the dress after 10 minutes of tugging and pulling it onto my body. Clearly my left arm has lost some of it's length. I need combat pay.
There was a couple of other dresses. But I'd lost conscientiousness by this time from lack of blood flow I think they should make a wedding snuggie. Hmm, they probably do. I'll ask at the next shop. After I regain blood flow in my arms. . The adventure continues..............
No comments:
Post a Comment