I bought a wedding dress a few weeks ago. I can’t post it on here, of course, because every so often The Feyonce likes to secretly stalk the blog and search for his name—just to see what sorts of secrets and private moments I’m sharing. I think it’s bad luck for him to see it beforehand, and lord knows I don’t need any more bad luck.
But there’s plenty more to talk about, because believe me– the dress itself was hardly the most interesting part of the day. In fact, I learned quite a few things whilst subjecting myself to the torments of wedding dress shopping.
1. Apparently My Body Is Misshapen And Disgusting*
The first bridal boutique was absolutely perfect—it was downtown in this rustic hipster building and fully staffed by 22-year old Bratz dolls. The walls were draped with designer dresses and we were handed glasses of champagne to enjoy whilst I played princess.
It was all chick-flick perfect. Except that of the four dozen or so dresses my sister-in-laws picked out for me, only two fit over my hips. ONLY TWO.
The first dress I attempted to stretch over my arse came up to about mid-thigh. I refused to admit defeat and decided to dive in from the bottom and pull it over my head. I managed to get my neck through the tunnel of tulle and lace, then used every bit of strength in my body to get it past my chest before pulling my arms through. With mangled hair and sweaty upper lip, I stared at myself and got to enjoy the expression on my face when I realized the dress was now tightly wedged between my two widest lady parts.
My sisters waited on a velvet couch, periodically harassing me.
“Come out, we want to see it!”
“Just a sec!” I called back, trying not to let on that I was bent over with my arms over my head, wiggling back and forth and praying that gravity would help move the dress back up and off of my unworthy body. Thousand-dollar tufts of fabric turned inside out and pressed into my skin, leaving marks as I took deep gulps of air, determined to not let it suffocate me. Eventually I managed to get it back on the coathanger but it was still partially inside out and my neck had a cramp.
I tried a few more times before my waiflike attendant stared at the floor and mumbled that they simply did not have dresses “big enough” to fit me.
2. Food and Booze Can Improve Most Any Situation
We’d kicked the morning off by eating sweet potato pancakes with marshmallow cream, bacon, skillet potatoes, and champagne, so the obvious next step was to hydrate with more adult beverages. Nevermind that it was only noon.
I too needed something to take the edge off, because I’d actually forced myself to buy and wear real underwear for this auspicious occasion. This was a brave new venture for me and one I immediately regretted once I realized how uncomfortable it probably would’ve made the willowy Bratz doll to have to look at my gargantuous arse* in a thong.
3. Just Because I’m Getting Married Doesn’t Mean I Have To Get Bedazzled
Despite my epic laziness and slovenly habits, I am a huge fan of wearing dresses. Dresses allow you to feel mostly naked, enjoy the breeze, and they’re a one-step don and doff. But these magic rules don’t apply to wedding dresses. No—wedding dresses have buttons and 12-foot laces that have to be drawn up like a corset. Wedding dresses exceed the weight limits of checked baggage and are covered in things that sparkle, glisten, and ought to be painted on the side of the Queen’s tea set.
And don’t get me started on the veil. Twice they attempted to put me in a veil, and both times I felt like an amnesiac staring in the mirror, asking “who the feck am I?”
Eventually, we did find THE DRESS—a surly and understated little jewel that didn’t make me look like this:
4. The Iphone 6 Takes Slo Mo Video
After placing my order, we scampered off for our third meal in the last 5 hours. Afterwards we decided to go to Target, which my SIL was in favor of until she realized we had to actually walk across a parking lot to get there.
The stroll about Target was just enough exercise to get us properly hungry for dinner, where we rejoined the menfolk for more food and more alcohol. Partway through the meal, my brother shared with the rest of the family that he’d recently taken a slo-mo video of his wife’s butt jiggling. This seemed like a great reason to keep drinking.
By the end of the night, SIL #1 was drunkenly swinging around a lamp pole, SIL #2 was drunkenly buying me jewelry off Etsy and announcing to the world “I make more money than everyone else in this family, I can afford it” and SIL #3 was in the backseat of Alex’s car, asking why there were so many goats lying about. Thankfully by this point, SIL #4 had long since abandoned ship and gone home to pray for the rest of us. Obviously, we needed it.
*I’m being facetious. The wedding industry is just a parade of a-holes.
Does your family have drunken escapades together? What was YOUR experience with wedding dress shopping? Do you let anyone make you feel badly about your body?
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