I’m not alone in this wedding dress fascination. Everyone had an opinion on “The Dress” and everyone wanted to “help” find “The Dress”. Turns out I was going to screw them all over by buying a dress on the first and mercifully only wedding dress shopping day.
As much as I love wedding dresses, trying shit on is so far removed from my “favorite things” list that it is tied to a cinder block at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean.
If you also hate trying on things, I feel you should know that trying on wedding dresses is ten times worse than crappy regular clothes shopping. Want to feel like an albino beached whale? Try on a wedding dress “in your size”, and by “your size” I mean whatever size you think you might be plus 5 more sizes.
At one point the lovely sales lady/seamstress was sewing sleeves (oh my God, NO!) on to a dress I thought I couldn't hate more. But then it had sleeves and I hated it more.
I felt fat, tired, annoyed and strangely enough, guilty. Why not? Sprinkle me on some of that guilt, my self-loathing could use some spice!
I had taken a shine to one dress but was convinced there was no hope for it because of my love of candy and the dress’s love to cut off circulation. Another sales woman pushed me to try it on again, promising me they could “fix it”. How kind was that? I’m the one taking down pastries like that’s okay and they were going to “fix it”. And you know what? They did.
Sure, having the dress cut open on the sides, exposing my bits to delivery people, other brides and my trooper of a friend was like having a televised pelvic exam but “fix it” they did.
I was in love with it. I was ready to curl up and sleep with it. I was about to bust out my purse butter and make the dress into toast so I could fully consume it and satiate my ridiculous love of it.
And it was mine. All mine.