Shopping has never been my “thing.” And, truly, my ability to put together any sort of “outfit” usually results in a stressful disaster. That’s why I tend to stay in my comfort zone: Jeans and T-shirts, please and thank you.
So when it came time for me to buy my wedding dress, I was a little apprehensive. Excited, but anxious. I had been “pinning” dresses I thought were cute for some time. I even got Mr. B in on the action. But I wasn’t sure how things would look with my unique body. Still, I had a few “musts” for my wedding dress:
- A touch of color
- Twirly skirt
Other than that, I didn’t have any preconceived notions of what would and wouldn’t “be me.”
I was so blessed to be joined on my shopping excursion by Mom and Mom B. Not only was this a super exciting day because I was shopping for my dress, but it was the first time the moms met. Double fun! I was SO looking forward to spending the day with them — both are fantastic women, and I couldn’t think of anyone else I would have had with me on that day (well, except maybe Rosebud).
We met early at the mall — a central, easy location — so we could have a chance to say our hellos and visit for a bit before we headed off to the first of my two appointments. HUGS! All around. The moms (appeared to) hit it off while I laid down the ground rule:
If it doesn’t look good, you HAVE to tell me it doesn’t look good.
If it doesn’t look good, just tell me I look “less pretty” please.
We arrived at the appointment a few minutes early and found the door locked. So, we returned to the car for a few more minutes of chatting. Once we got inside for the appointment, a woman — filling in for my consultant until she got in to the shop — led us to a rack of dresses in a similar style to what I described above: short, simple. I started pulling dresses off the rack, while the woman started me a fitting room.
Soon my consultant arrived and started bringing me dresses to try on while the moms sat outside and waited to see the magic that was waiting for them as I tried on dress after dress after dress.
Some of the dresses never made it out of the dressing room. Because — ohmigosh — bad. So very bad. Most of the dresses I tried on were actually bridesmaids dresses — because they fit my dress requirements and my budget. Though, none of them actually fit me. It was kinda fun that they were random colors — I tried on brown dresses, red dresses, yellow dresses. But that did make it somewhat hard to envision what they’d look like as a wedding dress.
And then there was The Ridiculous Dress. I asked my consultant if she had anything with lace. I was expecting simple eyelet or something along those lines. Little did I know what she had in store for me.
Then my consultant brought out one more dress — after I almost decided on one of the other ones. Even though it was in a glorious shade of green, I knew I was going to love it. It had the CUTEST pockets hidden in the pleats in the front. And the pleats? In my opinion, they worked perfectly with my saggly waggly stomach. When I put it on and twirled around in the dressing room, I knew it was perfect.
But it needed to pass the mom test.
So I walked out, hands in the pockets. Twirled around. Stood on the pedestal. Twirled around. Looked in the mirror. Twirled around.
The moms approved; I approved. Except, it was strapless. And that made me extremely uncomfortable.
I’m not modest — we all know I have no shame. But I’m also not a “strapless” kinda girl. Alterations to the rescue. They’re going to add some straps and make a few other adjustments — making a dress that’s truly mine. (As long as I can find the right color ribbon. Do you know how hard it is to find “sage” grosgrain ribbon in 2.25 inches that matches the “sage” I see in my head? You don’t? Well. It’s hard. But not impossible. I think.)
While I have a photo of me in the pieced-together store sample, I don’t really have a photo that will do the dress justice. So I won’t share it. Besides, Mr. B really doesn’t want to see my wedding dress before our wedding. And I don’t know if he can be trusted not to click through and read this post.
The most awkward part of the whole experience? Getting measured. Not because it makes me uncomfortable. Not because I even care what the measuring tape or size tag said. But because the consultant kept making rationalizations for the size she was having to order. Honey, please, I’m extremely familiar with my body and the fact that my loose stomach skin will always require me ordering a bigger size than my chest or waist dictate. And, yes, I had to order a dress three sizes larger than I’d normally wear to compensate for my saggy baggy stomach. I’m perfectly OK with it because my dress size is not a measurement of my character.
Besides, I love the dress. And it didn’t matter what size it was. It was mine. Ordered. Paid for. It felt
good fantastic. It felt … real. Ohmigosh! I’m getting married! I have a dress! I’m getting married! I have a dress!
The only thing left to do? Cancel the afternoon appointment with the other dress shop. They didn’t sound too happy. But I was!
Mr. B and his sister T met us for lunch — both surprised to hear I’d purchased a dress already. (Hey, that’s how I shop. I know what I want; I buy it; I move on.) It was the perfect way to end a very lovely morning with the moms.
Now? Now comes the hard part: Waiting. Four weeks before the dress comes in. Four weeks before I get to see it in ivory. Four weeks before they start piecing it together for me into the dress I can see in my head, the dress I’ll wear when I say “I do,” the dress I’ll wear when I become Mrs. B.