Sunday, 20 June 2010

The Big White One

I am getting married next year! Woo Hoo, yippee, yeah!!

We have booked the church, venue and photographer. I am less than a year away and am looking for "That Dress". Today we, my Gran and little sister, went shopping for said Dress. I need the power of this dress to reduce my husband-to-be to tears when he sees me at the end of the aisle. I'd like his tears to be for one reason- I look breath taking. There is a chance though that they are tears of relief that I have simply arrived on time.

It's not that I believe in being fashionably late, it just so happens I have an allergy to being on time. It usually results in my face flushing and having sweaty arm pits and in a turrets like manner I tend to splutter "I'm so sorry I'm late" repeatedly until I see a smile, at which point my shoulders dislodge themselves from under my ears. Anyway we had two appointments one first thing in the morning and the second late afternoon. On making these appointments I asked a couple of standard questions:

1. Do I need to bring anything?
2. Is it alright that my Gran and sister come?
3. Do you charge for an appointment?

The answers to these three questions were as follows:
1. "Heels and a strapless bra"
2. "Yes of course"
3. "WHAT?!" or "Erm No" (delivered in a tone that would suggest I has in fact asked an alternative question like "Do you believe that Aliens made the pyramids?")

So I, and my contingent, turn up on time- minus the red face and sweating arm pits- and am given a hand full of tokens to drop on the hangers of my chosen dresses. Like a Prima Donna I wander around the shop turning my nose up at this dress and that dress and "oh" and "ah" over the other dresses. My little assistant picked up each and every dress I had chosen and took them through to the changing room.

"Right if you just strip down to your underwear, I'll get the first dress ready"

O.k so I don't even know this lady's name however that turns out to be the least of my problems. In unzipping my trousers I realise that I haven't shaved my legs or arm pits. . . my toes nails are neglected and suffering the remnants of the last nail polish applied 5 months ago. . . oh and the cream, strapless bra I was wearing had just done battle with a black t-shirt in the washing machine and lost. Which is fine because they don't match my big (but comfortable) lacy pants.

Cue the exit of a Prima Donna, dignity and self respect.

Enter humility.

The dresses I tried on wear stunning- except for one which did make me look like a life size loo roll decoration- poofy is not a word which would adequately describe this particular white frock. If I were being thrown out of a plane at thirty thousand feet this would definitely by my choice of life saver, I could be guaranteed a gentle landing. For anyone to talk to me though they would need to have a loud and clear voice as they would be forced, by the sheer girth, of the skirt to stay at least 10 feet away from me. Failing this I was bound to make an excellent mini bouncy castle hostess for the younger guests at our wedding who could run full pelt at me and neither of us would feel the contact. At least until the child were picked up off the floor, or out of a near by wall, where upon the impact of their landing would be felt!

I may have found the one but I will, naturally, need to check out another few shops before I commit* myself to "The Tear Jerker".

*I committed:

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