Saturday was the first official day of dress-shopping. I've looked at dresses online, but never officially pinned down a look. And now I have to. And it was fun. My mother got her hair done. And put on nice pants. And then almost cried because the cat jumped up and pulled a thread in her pants. She asked me if she could wear sneakers. I said, yeah, why not? She said she didn't want them to think she couldn't afford to pay for a dress because her hair was messy and she was in sneakers. I had to explain that they only really care if the credit card goes through, and if they thought we looked too poor to shop there, we could take our money and go elsewhere.
But, then again, I was in a nice sweater and slacks and flats for the same reason, so I guess I really should shut up . . .
I have to say it was really a surreal experience. I've dreamed about getting married and getting the dress for as long as I've liked boys, and to choose "the dress" is so unreal. I don't feel like a grown woman anyway most days and then to put on these gorgeous dresses (OK, "put on" is a kind way of saying "after I staggered back from having several HEAVY ballgowns placed over my head--who would have thought beads and lace weigh so much?") felt . . . different. Not in a bad way, just in a, "At any moment someone's gonna want to see my ring as proof I belong here and I'm not a teenage kid pulling a prank." way. My mother said she would not cry. I told her if she doesn't cry, how am I supposed to know "the dress?" But I'm closer to the dress. There were two good options, and one that I like because it's elegant, and classic with a twist. Ohhhh, and I got my mom to say the words I've waited for since I was a big-haired high school freshman in love with all things short and revealing. We were looking at one dress that I rather liked, and I asked her opinion, and she finally, after all these years, said, "That is TOOO covered up." Dontcha love it.
And my delight in the day continued when, upon getting home, I walked in the bedroom, went to flip on the lightswitch, and saw one of my fair entries, the kitten, hanging up. And, right as I was turning around to yell, "Thank you thank you thank you" because I like seeing my stitching on the wall, but don't trust myself to put it up, I noticed the lions were hanging on the wall over the stereo. Darling HTB had hung them up. They were sitting in a box in my sewing room after coming home from the fair, and I'd thought the box looked a bit emptier, but I am dense and didn't notice they weren't in there til they were on the wall. Woo hoo!
Of course, being a man, he wasn't as sillily interested in my dress shopping day. I told him I found one I really like and it was at a good price, but he asked, "Did you already buy it?" I told him of course not, but he must stop handing me caramel corn and putting mayo on my cheesesteaks. And I need body-sculpting bootcamp.
"Charms," I yelled, pointing at my biceps with their protective fat layer, "I have charms. And I have three to six months to lose them, because that's how long I have to pick out a dress. They have to make it. And they need six months! Charms!"
It's a good thing he's a calm person. We still have roughly 54 weeks to get through of this. But I'm going to go lift weights now.