When we last met, I was slightly tubby, wedding dressless, and watching homoerotic exercise videos every night after work.
Not much has changed in all the time I've been away (missed you), except that I now have a dress and a veil and the last remaining shreds of my dignity. (All I can say is that I hope I never see a three-way mirror ever again - I can't believe that the Baby Jesus meant for us to see our own back fat, much less in unflattering overhead light.) Though I was maddeningly indecisive about the dress, the threat of a looming appointment at Kleinfeld's, the CostCo of bridal salons, was a major motivation to get that shit over and done with. On the night before the dreaded appointment, I called another bridal joint in a panic and chose a dress a nice Greek girl had shown me the week before.
"I'd like to buy a dress," I said to a woman on the phone.
"Wonderful! What is the dress you tried on?"
"Erm, I don't remember the name...do you have a record of the two dresses I liked?"
"Didn't Katerina give you a card with the names of the dresses?"
"Uh...I think I lost it."
"Can you describe the dress?"
"Uhhhh...lacy...ivory...uh...it had a train I think...uh...and this little thingy down the front..." FUUUUUCK.
"Do you have a picture of it?"
"A picture?"
"Yes, did you take a picture of yourself in the dress by any chance?" (barely masked antipathy).
"Was I supposed to? Is that like, a thing?"
"Sometimes people take pictures."
"Oh."
"Did you check the website?"
"Uhhhh...yeah!" (desperately clicking through website) "No, it's not here. Wait. Is that it? Shit. I don't remember."
"I need the name of the dress."
"Look, see, I have to buy the dress soon because I left it too late and I really---"
"But if we don't know the name---"
And then, in the background, I heard the Greek girl shouting a name.
"BLAHBLAH!" said the woman triumphantly, relaying the name back to me. "Is that the dress?"
"YEAH!!!" I exclaimed, having no idea if it was indeed the dress, but relieved to have resolved the matter. "THAT'S IT! I'LL TAKE IT!"
In a matter of minutes I had paid for a dress I wasn't sure I had tried on just to avoid another three-way. Three-way mirror, that is.
I went back to work. After a thorough excoriation from a friend, I booked another appointment to make sure I had paid for the right dress.
"I can't believe you," she scolded. "You're like the anti-bride. I want you to GO OVER THERE AND PICK OUT A DRESS AND A VEIL AND THEN REPORT BACK TO ME. AND DON'T PAY FOR ANYTHING YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND."
I brought my mom with me and together with the Greek girl, they shrouded me in lace and tulle. I had this vision of myself in a rocked-out dress with a Sassy McSasserton hair ornament, but a strange force came over me and I went hardcore trad. I blame the spirit of Princess Diana for effing me up at the last minute.
"Wow," I said, peering at myself in full regalia. "This is really happening."
It was the first time I really felt like a bride. The first time I felt that strange nervous tickle in my stomach, that funny feeling of anticipation. Still, I had doubts.
"Guys, do you think I look too---"
"NO!" they shouted in unison. And that settled that. I bought the dress. I bought the veil. How could I not?
Image via Nibs.
