Wedding Woes

Three months ago I did something pretty stupid. Out on my lunch break purchasing a flower garland for Vix, my eldest (so, yeah this is all her fault), I walked past a wedding shop. In the window was a dress, magnificent in its beauty. A flowing creation that looked like something out of the Corpse Bride. Covered in black taffeta with a wide sweeping trail it was so far from being an actual wedding gown that I stopped, and I considered.

Now with something like six months to go until I planned to actually get married, it was, to my mind, far too early to be thinking about wedding dresses and such, but I thought, okay, I might have a little look. After all I was on my lunch break and had a bit of spare time that I would only have spent wandering around, probably buying stuff for the kids. So I entered the hell that is a wedding shop and walked the aisles. You note I did not actually go and look directly at the Corpse Bride dress, always best to feign disinterest I feel, especially if you think you might want something. So I looked at the regular dresses instead, the endless rows of ivory and white dresses. The bridal shop owner, a forbidding woman in her late fifties or so, came over all smiles and pearls and asked if I needed help. I shrugged and pointed to the rows of dresses. "Not really," I said. "They all look pretty much the same to me."
She gasped. "They're very different," she insisted.
I frowned and looked back at the rows. Really they all looked identical. Just slight differentiations in the shade and placement of beads and diamantes and whatnot. "That's the only one that stands out," I said, pointing to the Corpse Bride dress.
"Ah, yes," she said. "It's on sale right now."
Casually like I walked over to it. "How much?"
"It was a thousand," she said. I turned to make a quick exit. "But it's on for five hundred and seventy now, plus garment and storage fees."
I shuddered. Never in my life have I paid so much for a a bit of material The closest I'd ever got was Vix's prom dress which set me back four hundred, and I felt faint for several months after that. "I might come back at some point," I said.
"When are you getting married," she asked.
"Erm." I racked my brain. "About six months."
She gasped (again). "And you don't have a dress?"
"Not yet. I thought I'd pick one up the month before."
More gaspage. "But they have to be ordered, altered, all sorts. You need to be thinking about a dress at least a year in advance. Really six months is hardly anytime at all."
Edging towards the door I laughed. "If I pay six hundred bucks for a dress I don't expect it to need altering, and it's a dress not a book. A year? That's ridiculous."
Wedding shop woman didn't get that, but you would if you were me, you know waiting around for a year for a book to come out... anywhos I digress.

I didn't want to go back to the shop. It was far too soon to be thinking about the impending nuptials. I was planning not to think about it until a month or so before the actual event, but the dress nudged me all night. It's oddness appealing to the freak in me. I discussed it with the chap and he was all for me gothing it up down the aisle. "If you want it, I'll buy it for you," he said.
So the next day, lunch break again, The Greek's words ringing in my ear, the sudden knowledge that I was actually getting married quite soon, I nipped back to the shop. And this is where the stupidity comes in right, because I got there and the dress... was missing. No longer on the stand.
In I strode and pointed to the empty mannequin. "Where is the dress?"
Wedding dress woman pointed to the changing room, a smug look on her face. Someone was in there trying it on... my dress!  That's how it clarified in my mind, because my territorial instincts had risen now. Like a wolf after the rabbit I tensed. Didn't matter that yesterday I was oohing and ahhing over it, that I shuddered at the price and wasn't really even ready to buy a dress. Now someone else wanted the dress it was clear to me that it must be mine. After all if I didn't buy this one, which one would I buy? How many more concoctions of white and ivory would I have to look at? I'd have to go to another shop and I didn't think I had it in me to do so. I could be reading for fucks sake!

So I waited all sort of tense and conflicted until the interloper came out of the changing room. She was beaming. "I really love the dress," she said.
Wedding woman and she spent an inordinate amount of time discussing the dress and boring things like flowers and menus and shizz. Eventually wedding shop woman took the dress and placed it in the garment bag. The interloper sighed. "It's so beautiful."
A predatory grin from pearls and smiles. "Are you going to take it?"
Changing room woman shifted. "Erm... I don't have all the money right now."
And enter stupidity from yours truly. A woman who really should have learned the meaning of impulsiveness when she decided hair really was a nonsense sort of thing to have and shaved it all off at sixteen...
"I do and I'll take it," I said.
They both turned to me, shocked at my interruption. Changing room woman looked crushed, I didn't really have any sympathy. Why try it on if you can't afford it? And besides it was mine right? I'd seen it first! Wedding dress woman looked far too satisfied, and I was now trapped, stuck. Spurred on by my competitive drive, the beast in me rising without thought... The only plus that now entered my mind was the fact I was done. Wedding dress check, ha ha! Relief filled me at the prospect of never having to enter another one of these shops for the rest of my life...

So there you have it, that's how I ended up with my wedding dress... but wait because it gets so much fucking worse. Worse? Yeah... soooo much worse.... You see on actually getting round to trying the damn thing on I realized that the dress didn't actually fit! A size 10 (6 to my US readers) it was never freaking going to (should have checked out the size huh? Yeah I know! I know!), because believe me readers, it has been some time since I've fitted into anything remotely resembling a 10. Not a problem thought I. It's done now I'll just trim up a bit. Drop the chubb and look all sleek and shizz walking down the aisle.

Pre Christmas I was so on it. Like a tornado I dieted without pause. See me! Watch me drop these pounds, it's so easy. Why do people complain and moan about dieting huh? Huh? Pre Christmas it was all good. I dropped a stone in the space of five weeks. It fell off without any effort. I simply stopped all the treats and ate an awful lot of fruit. Over Christmas, feeling spurred on by my success thus far, I eased off a little. Okay lies, I ate far too much chocolate and turkey and roast potatoes. But I was checking the scales and it was only a couple of pounds give or take. I'd drop it right after Christmas again. Wouldn't I?

Only post Christmas I've sort of lost my drive a little. It's been three weeks since then and my diet is pretty much screwed. I have indeed been eating chocolate and digging into the crisps, and yes, there has been pie too, and bread, and bacon, and roast dinners... Knowing it wasn't looking good earlier this evening I slithered into the dress, helped by Vix (who remember is responsible for this) and felt my heart sink. Its one of those lace up efforts and as Vix pulled and tugged on me I felt oddly... constricted.
Silence and then... "We may have a problem here, mom," Vix said. "Like a problem, problem."
"Does it fit?" I asked, feeling all my organs squeeze as she laced me in, and knowing her answer before she even gave it me.
"Erm... how do you define fit?" she asked.
"Does up should cover it. Does the damn thing do up. Do the laces shut it closed? Is there skin showing?"
"Well..." Vix paused. I craned my neck to try and get a gand, but saw nothing. My ribs burned.
"Tell me it fits," I sighed.
Now Vix is very honest so she gave it to me straight. "Remember when you ate three creme eggs in a row?" she asked.
I nodded.
"Then you already know the answer."

As I sit here, ribs still burning telling you this, I realize it is precisely 12 weeks until I get married. 12 fucking weeks!!!!! And the dress is sooo far from fitting. Like, so far! That first stone I dropped a-okay? Well I'm gonna need to do that again, and then some. It's either that or wear a jacket. Now don't get me wrong, barely able to breathe and strongly regretting that lunch break where I lost my mind, I considered a leather number, but well, there's only so far even I can go. And strutting down the aisle Corpse Bride forward slash Underworld might be a step too far...

12 weeks. 12 godforsaken weeks of salad and baked fish and fucking fruit. Will I survive? Will I even care by the time April roles around? Impulsiveness... gets me every time.