Friday, April 3, 2015

Surprising Soulmate: my love affair with a dress

She's not much to look at.

Very few adornments.

By all accounts, plain.

No frills, no bows. No lace or buttons.

In a world of Bangs, she registers a Whimper.

The moment I laid eyes on her, I knew:

I hated her.

Soundly and staunchly.

There was no way she'd ever "do" for My Big Day.

Where were the beads? The sparkles? The razzmatazz?

Surely this sales lady had made some mistake.

Surely she could see that THIS bride-to-be wanted the Baz Lehrmann of wedding gowns.

Surely, she would never do.

For I cannot rock socks with an off-the-rack frock.

I frown.

I frown a frown that won't turn upside down.

I don't wanna try her on.

Where's that 10-ton Gatsby tailoring monstrosity I tired on half an hour ago? Surely SHE'S's the dress that's gonna make the cut (once, you know, she's cut to fit.)

Silly sales lady insists. Says this one will be different from the previously force-fed ballgowns and A-lines. She promises Simple Sally is the last one I'll hafta try...

So, damn her, I have to try...

Off the hanger, she falls in a heap. I harumph her up over my hips. She makes about as much fuss as I do.

She refuses to zip over the masochistic bra I've been commanded to wear ("I'm sorry ma'am; we don't carry your size. You'll have to special order. Here. You can borrow this B cup.").

I know, dress, I know. This is not the scenario in which one wants their cups to runneth over. You're right, dress. You're right.

I remove The Rack from my rack and she zips just fine.

Better than fine.

Like we've come to an agreement.

In fact, there's surprisingly little fuss out of her.

She's staying up (and so are my girls!). She's moving and not getting all up under my feet.

She's hugging my waist and disguising my thighs.

Hey - this girl ain't half bad!


Three-way mirrors are a proven cause of diagnosable depression. Yet, this duel 3-way I've going between the mirror, myself, and her... It's working better than I imagined.

Different, oh yes. There wasn't the lace or the beads I'd longed for (but, to be fair, I hadn't brought the long, luxurious legs I'd longed for to the fitting either. So, between she and I, concessions had to be made.)

Still, stilts aside, we look surprisingly not bad.

She and I walk together. We sit.

It's like a great first date with someone you didn't really dig at first.

I find I am unable to shake her.

And so?

I take her.

Right there in the store.

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