I tweeted a couple of days ago that I have been having the realization that I’m getting married in the beginning of January and, other than booking the location we’re traveling to, I have done almost nothing else in preparation. My betrothed, Dr. Strange, and I have been very caught up in work-related stuff. But it struck me the other morning that I have to accomplish at least some things this month – namely, buying a dress and getting passports for my children.
Not that I haven’t given any thought to a dress. I know I don’t want to get married in a white wedding dress from a wedding shop and I know that spending a lot of money gives me palpitations. Dr. Strange and I spent the last year getting out of debt and I am still having trouble spending money (this is a topic for another post). I tried early last week to find a dress, but dress options in my little town are severely limited and I mostly just felt dejected after my day of shopping.On top of this, I am supposed to attend a fancy hospital fundraiser this month and I need a second dress for that. That added the pressure of needing two dresses when I couldn’t even find one….
Then this weekend I went south to see Dr. Strange’s children and realized I might have better luck finding a dress in a shopping scene that serves a million people as opposed to 50,000. Dr. Strange accompanied me to the local mall, where I proceeded to break into a cold sweat. The idea of spending money made my adrenals hurt and I realized a part of me still worries a lot about being as broke as I was after my divorce again. Dress shopping is also just plain hard. There’s no standard women’s sizing. Each designer’s size has different measurements, so it’s always a crap shoot as to whether something will fit off of the rack.
We went from shop to shop and tried to find a needle that would fit my admittedly curvy body in a proverbial haystack of dresses for women shaped like needles. The first shop only had dresses that one might wear to a club. Not to their wedding or a fancy pants, grown up event. The second shop had a matronly selection and a sales lady in bright pink lipstick who followed me around, peppering me with questions and letting me know that everything I picked would “definitely need to be altered.” I tried to try on a single dress, but mostly just tried to escape at the constant knocking on the dressing room door and questions of whether I “really thought that dress would fit over my butt?” At this point, Dr. Strange started to hit a wall and, I’m sure, questioned the wisdom of accompanying me. I had visions of those old, miserable looking men sitting on the mall bench, holding their wives’ purses and dreaming of escape.
The third shop had a much larger selection and, ultimately, was a success. In a true testament to how bananas dress shopping is, I tried on four dressed that fit – one was a size 10, another a 12, another a 16 and another a 20, with the size being determined by how much room was in the bust. The Calvin Klein dress model is a busty lady. I like her. I walked away with a dress for the fundraiser and two candidates for a wedding dress, but no ultimate decision.
I tried them both on again this afternoon and felt really bullish on one of the dresses. I could see myself wearing it on the beach at sunset. But, Little I and Tiny Diva very strongly insist that the other dress is the winner. Strongly. They hate the one I love. Feel free to leave your opinion in the comments below.
When I was pregnant with Little I, people would ask if I had chosen a name. I told everyone in the most serious of tones that we were naming him Genghis. I realized that, if you told people the name before the baby was born and they didn’t like it,they were likely to tell you. Then, you could never un-know that they hated your baby’s name. For example, Tiny Diva is named for my grandmother. When I was pregnant, I tried to broach the topic of naming Tiny Diva after her and she confided in me that she always hated her name and had been named after her father’s mistress. Of course, her mother didn’t realize this as they were naming the baby. She learned of it later and hilarity ensued. Someday I’ll tell Tiny Diva that she is named for her great-grandmother, who was named for the stripper her great- great-grandfather catted around with.
With Little I, everyone was puzzled by the name Genghis and, therefore, relieved when I named him something else. If you’ve already named your baby, people are more likely to keep their name opinions to themselves. I’ve now got the equivalent of a baby name wedding dress. I can’t un-know that my kids hate the dress I like, but I can’t change the fact that the other doesn’t thrill me as much. So, I would be glad to hear your opinion, but if you ask me which dress I’m choosing between now and January, the answer is “Genghis.”