I went wedding dress shopping with my sister last week. I was expecting to well up and have a moment after seeing my big sister in a wedding gown for the first time since it's all so *emotional* you know, and I did cry. With laughter.
Olivia and I are graceful girls. Within limits. Our grace extends more to, oh, downing shots hands-free, or bargaining discounts at a Turkish bazaar. And we are definitely not girly girls. I mentioned before that I had been a tomboy growing up, well, this plan was set in motion by my sister before me. Maybe if she had liked nailpolish and Barbie I would have too, but it was not in the divine plan.
As kids we liked sneakers, overalls and climbing trees. Not dresses. Our mother loved dresses, pretty MATCHING dresses with ruffles and boleros for her two little angels that in secret, we plotted to destroy. Oli just kept hiding hers in various places and shifted the blame back to Mom whenever she asked where it was. "What do you mean you don't know where it is? That's my favourite dress!" Of course, mentioning that it was her *favourite* dress just made mom feel guilty that she had slacked off on wardrobe management. Mine met its maker an hour before my sixth birthday party when I challenged the block Big Wheel champion for his title. It had rained that morning, and the ruffled skirt caught underneath the wheels, ripping and spraying muddy water everywhere. I came home, new champion, covered in dirt and torn ruffles hanging around my ankles. Happy-appy Birthday.
As we grew up we slightly eased our loathing of dresses, provided they did not have ruffles, and could be used effectively in attracting fairer members of the opposite sex. Largely in moderation though, because in short, we still hate dresses. You get the picture.
So what happens when you take a bride and maid of honour, blue jeans beclad and sworn off marriage until this point, and put them in a pink bridal salon surrounded by taffeta, lace and tulle? A recipe for disaster, that's what. See, we can't understand how one becomes Bridezilla. We can't understand The Dream of a perfect wedding that apparently every other woman in the world has been having since birth. We've never gunned for huge engagement rings or played the Bouquet Toss game. And frankly, the idea of sauntering down an aisle in front of hundreds of people makes us really, really nervous.
On the flipside, those "serious" brides can't understand us, either. Imagine the evil eye one mother gave us when we started giggling at her daughter’s dilemma over the several choices of white. "I want this white! THIS white, not THAT white! This is my dream white!” Or the other bride who needed her gown a week earlier, so she could perfect her wedding walk in full dress rehearsal. That last one was a real howler, making us duck behind a row of Cinderella reject gowns so no one would see us.
So back to the dresses. The first was very Joan Crawford, simple and straight, but just didn't suit her. The second was a little more flowery, which made it all the funnier. My sister is one gorgeous woman, but she's not flowery. Third was this satin white beaded bustle thing that she seemed to like, but I thought it made her look like a black-haired Melanie Griffith at the Oscars. In 1996.
The fourth was much nicer, creamy and simple, strapless with a little more skirt that swished when she walked. Not her style at all, but nice and simple enough to start veil testing.
Veil Uno was short, ending just below her chin. Perfect! If she wanted her head to look like a big white poof of cotton candy, that is. Veil Dos was long, almost down to her ankles and actually looked really nice until she turned too fast and got some of the fabric in her mouth. Coughing and spitting, choked and blinded by chiffon, everything was everywhere so I ran in to help. In tears from laughing and being hopeless with this stuff in general, my adjustments made my sister look more like the heroin bride in the "White Wedding" video, than a vision of maiden loveliness.
Our ruckus caught the attention of the store owner, Kim, whom we'd quickly bonded with after she confided that she'd never had The Dream herself, and intended on eloping in Vegas one day. Kim raised one eyebrow, cleared the dressing room of veils, and came back with some very chic hairclips. Gorgeous, idiot proof, and suit Oli to the tee.
Onto the last dress. And what a dress it was.
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