As you might already know from previous blog posts, finding a wedding dress has been no simple task. After several dress shops and countless hours of selecting, trying on, taking off, adjusting, asking price, how soon soon could you do this, ETC... I found my dream dress. I bought it without hesitation. I left it in the hands of the trusted store employees to make the necessary alterations, and I was out the door, wildly relieved at having finally found THE dress.
Friday I had a fitting. The dress was all ready for me to pick up and take on home, just had to try it on one last time and make sure it was perfect.
I tried it on anxiously, yanking my jeans off and carefully slipping my gorgeous wedding dress over my body. I pranced out to the full length mirror to examine myself in this most perfect of dresses.
I hated it.
The shoulders had to be raised up and now the neckline was high enough to make me look like Jane Eyre. The bust of the dress didn't fit with my actual bust, and since I'm not exactly... *ahem*.... busty in the first place, saying I look like a sunken cave is a vast understatement. I had asked the chick at the shop to put some flowers by the neckline and what she made was one flimsy flower that looked like it was wilting, conveniently placed right next to the sunken cave. Then she charged me $15 for it.
After paying $200+ dollars for alterations and a veil, I threw the dress over my shoulder and trudged out of the shop. I wasn't 500 feet from the store before the silent tears started rolling down my cheeks. I waited until I was in the car to break into sobs. G has this ridiculously calming effect on me, so my first thought was to call him and have him solve all my problems. The conversation went like this:
B: I'm stressing out. I can't handle this. I'm never going to make it to the wedding date. I can't deal with everything. I hate my dress.
G: (bursting into laughter because he already knows what a hard time I had finding the dress in the first place) Oh honey this is crazy.
B: I know but I can't help it. I hate it. I hate this. I can't do it.
G: This is going to sound harsh, but I think you need to hear it. You're being too dramatic. Everything has to be done the hard way with you. Just keep it simple. You're too picky. Can't you just have fun with the wedding?
B: That didn't help
G: I don't know what you want me to say, Bon. You yourself are making your life hard. Just love the dress.
B: But I can't. I hate it.
G: ....long silence.... what am I supposed to say?
B: Say everything will be fine.
G: It will be if you make it fine. You're just being so dramatic and this is not that big of a deal. You've got to cut the drama or this is going to kill you. You're stressing over nothing.
At that point it was crystal clear to me that G was not going to be patient and loving and tender with me on this one so I got off the phone
I went inside the house where my mom was fixing dinner. I told her I hated my dress. Her response:
"Oh No! What's wrong with it? Did they not do the alterations right? Tell me exactly what you don't like about it. I'll go down and get it right if they didn't do the alterations how you wanted them. I'll fix it myself if that's what it takes! They're charging you for those alterations and they better get them right! Oh honey, I'm sure you're upset, but anything is going to look gorgeous on you...."
And that's why sometimes you just need a mom.