I will start off this story by telling you about my lovely friend Amber. Yes, I have a friend whose name is the same as mine. No, I am not having a moment of insanity and referring to myself in the third person....this time. Amber was married recently to Joshua. (See, my husbands name is Joe, hers is Joshua. Different. Kind of. I'm not crazy...right now.)
The wedding was beautiful. The reception was beautiful. Everyone and everything was beautiful.
Okay. Enough of that.
I had the pleasure and honor of participating in the wedding as a bridesmaid. I've never been a bridesmaid. Always the bride never the bridesmaid, woe is me. (For the record I've only been a bride once.) As a bridesmaid you have the general worry about having to wear a terrible dress, I lucked out and the dress that Amber (the other one, not me) picked out was great. Simple. Classic. Lovely.
There are even pockets!
See. Not bad. A few days before the wedding I was a little stressed that the dress was a bit snug. I took it into the dress place (I guess I shouldn't name it...but it rhymes with David's. Oops.) because it needed to be steamed. The ladies there had no trouble zipping it, it was just a little tough when zipping through the waist where the fabric is all gathered and bunched. I grabbed the optional straps and tags and left my dress there to be steamed.
Wedding day! Another bridesmaid picked up our dresses, thank goodness. By that day I couldn't handle one more thing on my plate, I was about 5 minutes away from a nervous breakdown. Hair done. Make up done. Legs and arms moisturized. Spanx on. Dress time! Grabbed my dress off the rack and shimmied into it, two of the other girls proceeded to zip me up.
Not sure about you but that really didn't make me feel confident in what was happening back there.
I will shorten this story by about 2 hours now. The zipper broke. Right in the center of my back. Couldn't get it on. Couldn't get it off.
"For fuck's sake!"
Is what I would've said if I hadn't of been in a church.
I stood in one place for an hour and a half while the lovely Anastasia literally sewed me into a dress. She had the perfect color thread, you couldn't tell at a glance that it was sewn on, I took the straps out of my pocket and she was able to use it to even more conceal the sewing. The only way you would've known I was sewn into my dress was by how much I was drinking and my perfect posture. At one point we had to interrupt the sewing so that we could all take pre-ceremony pictures, to hold my dress through that we just safety pinned it. At one point a safety pin popped open and punctured my lung.
I stayed in that dress until 1am, because I had to go to the after party and play charades. In a dress that I was sewn into. Charades. When I arrived home Joe had to cut the dress off of me.
At 1:01am I took my first full breath in 12 hours.
This is the point right before the safety pin popped open and tried to kill me.
For some reason my dress is shorter than everyone else.
Look at those pockets! Amazing.
Also, two days after the wedding I found MY straps in my wallet.
I had someone else's dress on the whole fucking time.