There are things they don’t tell you about trying on wedding dresses. Things that should totally be written up on a contract that you sign when you get engaged so that you are fully prepared and therefore prevent any unnecessary panic attacks in the dressing room. Not that that happened to me, of course. Alas, here they are. Carefully numbered in the order as they were discovered, mostly because I have OCD.
I went shopping with my mother, my sister (MOH), my sister-in-law, and my eight-year-old niece. To me four people was the perfect amount. When we got there, however, I was a bit surprised. I don’t know, I guess I had expectations of some luxurious, private room with plush couches and champagne bottles poppin’ (thanks, reality television) but I was thrown off guard by HOW MANY PEOPLE were around. I was kind of like, "What the truck, who invited you guys?". Then I woke up and realized I wasn't Kate Middleton.
The biggest WTF moment for me was when the sales consultant kindly informed me that wedding dress sizes ran TWO SIZES LARGER than normal sizes. When she said this I laughed at her funny little joke and even may have snorted a little. Then I realized she wasn’t joking. TWO SIZES! Really?! I wanted to know who the hell made that decision and if they had ever cried in a dressing room while simultaneously eating Pretzel M&M’s? Let me tell you who invented wedding dress sizes: a MAN. Because no woman would ever say "Hm, yes. Let's make these dresses run two sizes larger, ya know, just for fun." NO WOMAN!
When I first got into the room, the bridal consultant gave me two devices that I’m sure were either A) Used for torture in the Renaissance Period or B) Second-hand wedding supplies from my great-great-grandmother Beatrice. This could partly be due to the fact that I wore a slip twice in my entire life – both times being when I received a holy sacrament at a church.
Anyway, with the whole sizing thing on my mind, I was convinced I wasn’t going to fit into anything. So when I pulled the slip up and it wouldn’t fit, I thought I was already done before I had started. Enter older sister, and maid of honor, stage left. I immediately requested her presence in the dressing room. She opened the door and observed her crazy, hyperventilating sister and immediately began laughing. “You idiot, the slip doesn’t go over your boobs”. No wonder why it didn’t fit. I had pulled the damned thing up to my neck because I assumed, since it was so long, that’s where it belonged. My bad. Once we had the slip and bra correctly put on, I kindly told the consultant I didn’t need seven sizes bigger like I had originally thought.
Okay, I can’t really blame anyone for this one, as it’s my own fault that I’m a huge prude. I remember back to my high school swim team glory days (I sucked - I quit after a year) when there were lady parts flying left and right throughout the locker room, and there I was, in the one changing stall that NOBODY else used. Growing up in a house of ALL women, you would think I would have no problem just whipping out the girls, getting changed, and not even blinking an eye. Not the case. Even after working out in an Italian gym for two years, watching in bewilderment as women literally had full conversations naked and in compromising positions, I still couldn’t get used to being seen in the buff. There's actually a new reality show based on my life...
As I previously mentioned, I had ditched the slip and monster-bra. What had completely slipped my mind, was that I still had a dress on. And the bridal consultant had to help me remove that dress. So, there I was, in the dressing rooms in heels and my undies, and she whipped that dress off and there my tatas were...completely on display. She then proceeded to have an extremely lengthy discussion with me about the classes she was going to be taking next semester and her upcoming trip to New Orleans. At first, I did this super awkward thing where I help up my arms like a meerkat, trying to cover each of my nips, if only a little. Then my arms started to hurt and I got lazy, so I gave up. I'm happy to report I managed to live.
I am not naming names, but perhaps as I tell my story a light will go off in your head and you will know exactly the establishment I am talking about. Perhaps a lot of shops have this, too. But when I had decided on my dress, I was told I got to ring a special bell to announce my choice. The bridal consultant carefully warned me that this would cause my mother to cry. I wanted to carefully warn her that the only tears she would see out of my mother were from her laughing so hard.
So there I stood, swinging this bell around like Quasimodo while my mom, sister in law, sister, and niece observed the whole thing. And by "observed the whole thing" I actually mean "they were laughing so hard they snorted". I seriously had the peanut gallery in front of me.