Wedding dress stress
Now, when I say wedding dress, I obviously don’t mean a big white thing. I am not getting married. I am already married, just had our 10th wedding anniversary – did I get that eternity ring? No, I did not… anyway, I digress, I am not bitter about this. No. Not at all. Where was I? Yes, the wedding dress, I mean a dress for a wedding. Probably more stressful to choose a dress for someone else’s wedding that for your own, there’s the ever present dilemma of whether you should wear the same thing you wore to the last wedding you went to, but what if, inevitably, you are a bit fatter (I was), you have gone off the colour/shape/material (I had a bit) and most importantly, it does not match the clothes that the husband and children are wearing. We are not aspiring to be the Beckhams here, but we are also not all turning up to a wedding in a sort of multi-coloured mismatching assortment of clothes. No.
Having thought that I had the husband and children sorted, the husband has decided that he is going to choose his own clothes. Ridiculous. So now I have the added issue of him working out which suit to wear first so that I can dress match. So, with 4 nights to go until we depart for the UK for said wedding, and still with no dress purchased, I make him do a fashion parade. The Paul Smith suit – now 10 years old – wore it for our wedding and all others since, losing its shine a bit. Then The grey wool suit – very nice but it’s a July wedding. No. However, he wants to wear it. I re-iterate the part about it being a July wedding, say no again and try to put it away. He sulks. Then, out comes The shiny suit, bought for a Christmas party. Worn once. He has no shirts to go with it, but several acceptable ties. He is not happy and says he wants to wear the wool suit. I ignore him, what does he know anyway, he is a grown man.
Suit sorted, I go online and order a shirt from Next and 2 dresses in a suitable colour. I arrange for them to e delivered to the nearest store to the place we are staying in the UK and press the button. Done.
The day of the wedding, I get up early, drive to the out of town shopping place. Pick up the clothes, try on the dresses with the intention of returning the one I least like. Oh dear, both are horrid, not good in any way. I consult the store lady. She has nothing else in the right colour. I try not to panic, despite feeling slightly sick. There are now 2 1/2 hours to go. It’s ok, I think, I have the other dress, the one I didn’t really want to wear, but brought with me anyway, just in case… The problem now is that I don’t have any shoes to match, so I belt back in to town, go to Clarks and present the ladies with the dress/shoe issue. they rally round and find 6 pairs of shoes which they deem a suitable match bundle them into bags and I pay and am out of the shop in 12 minutes flat.
Thankfully the husband has had the presence of mind to dress himself and the boys before I get back and there is just enough time for me to throw on my clothes brush my hair and then drive hell for leather to the church, arriving just in time and hugely thankful that the bride is exercising her God-given right to be late.
The dress holds up alright. We do not look too dodgy. In fact, it is a wonderful day and after a couple of fabulous gin cocktails I forget all about the stress of the morning’s shopping. I do however manage to rip the dress on the toilet door lock halfway through the night, so I definitely need a new one now, maybe two for good measure.