Yesterday was the third time I went shopping for my wedding dress. And I bought one, baby.
The experience was … interesting.
The first time I tried on dresses was on my birthday. My best friend was visiting, and she scheduled the appointment. I was not yet engaged, though Jeff and I had looked at rings and I had picked out my favorites. But the bestie lives out-of-state, and who knew when we’d hang out again? This needed to happen.
We went to David’s Bridal and had a wonderful time. The woman who helped us was amazing. She knew what I wanted better than I did, and the dresses she suggested ended up being better than the ones I picked out. Granted, the extent of my pickyness extended to “not strapless,” so there wasn’t a lot I had in mind.
I don’t care how perfectly altered a dress is to your body — you will still end up doing this every 25 minutes.
The second time I went, I was with my mom at a bridal boutique. The woman who shimmied me into and out of each dress complained no fewer than four times, “Well, you don’t want strapless, so what I can bring you is kind of limited.” Yes, I understand, 90 percent of what you have is strapless. That’s part of the reason I don’t want one. I’m not holding this against you.
I found two dresses I really dug that time around, and I was able to narrow down my tastes a bit: I like lace and silk, I like slinky, I like awesome backs. Big poofy Princess Cup Cake dresses are fun too, and they make me feel pretty. But I’ve always been one for comfort above all, so while Princess Cup Cake was fun for dress-up, it’s definitely not a style I wanted. The day I get hitched, I’d like to be able to pee on my own if possible.
Absolutely lovely. But so not me. Bet you didn’t know she’s hiding an entire wedding cake under there.
Yesterday, I tried on dresses with my friend Emma. (Who has since pointed out, “Your relationship cannot survive without me. You and Jeff met at my birthday party. I was at your house the first time he called you to ask you out. And I was with you when you bought your dress. You need me.”)
The experience was … not awesome.
We ended up back at David’s Bridal, but the awesome woman from my first trip was not working that day, so someone else helped us.
- She did not like it that I had a friend with me to help zip me up when necessary and hang up each dress as I moved onto the next. This was exactly how the first David’s trip went, so why was it bad this time?
- She brought out the dresses I had marked as favorites from my first try, including something awful I’d never seen before. She insisted I had chosen it. Because it would have been impossible for someone to invert the numbers or write down a 6 instead of a 0. She did not offer to help find the actual dress I had liked.
- When she brought out dresses she thought I’d like, it was as if she was picking at random with zero clue as to what I was looking for.
- She farted. I’m not kidding. At one point, she excused herself to go to the front of the store, at which point Emma turned to me and sniffed just as I was thinking, “What is that smell?” “She farted!” Emma hissed. “No,” I said. “It had to be someone else.” We looked around. There was no one else. Our bridal assistant fart-and-dashed.
So this is the beaut who gets the commission from my dress. It’s too bad … but not so bad that I didn’t buy it. ‘Cause my dress rocks.
But, to reiterate: She farted.
I will forever be able to tell this story.
Of the bridal store employee who farted.