Wedding Disasters: Dress

When it comes to weddings, basic brides are consumed by one thing and one thing only – The Dress.  The thing that’s weird about that is can you remember the last wedding dress that made a major impact on you?

Basic Bride #1: OMG, I got the most AMAZING dress!
Me: Oh, cool.  What does it look like?
Basic Bride: Well it’s white and it’s long and it’s strapless and it cost $2,500.

Basic Bride #2: My dress is fantastic.
Me: Is it white?
Basic Bride #2: Yes!  And it’s long and it’s strapless.  It cost $7,500.

Basic Bride #3: Wait until you see the dress.
Me: Did it cost more than $7,500?
Basic Bride #3: Obviously, but it’s incredible.  It super long and white and instead of putting straps on it…
Me: *puts gun in mouth, pulls trigger*

First they get a long, white, strapless dress and then they spend the next several months rejecting all food and actively attending bridal boot-camp classes.  None of this was for me.  I wanted a short dress and I wanted to spend zero dollars. 

Now, I know what you’re thinking, “You wanted a cheap dress cause you’re poor and a short dress cause you’re slutty.”  Alright, just take it easy!  Though, sadly, you’re not wrong.  Luckily, I immediately found what I was looking for at the impeccable dress boutique, David’s Bridal.  It seems they cater to destitute streetwalkers, so I’m clearly their target market. 

Also, I had no unrealistic desires to become magically skinny before I walked down the aisle.  I knew the real star of my wedding would be cheeseburgers and that no one could honestly expect me to be more attractive than usual.  I wasn’t going to fall into the anorexic shame-spiral the rest of America had fallen into.  THIS IS MY BODY!  DEAL WITH IT! 

Unfortunately, after the food debacle, I was literally falling apart and could no longer tell what was important.  My defenses were down and I really started to let these women get to me.  Men, you may not know this but here’s how a typical conversation goes with another woman if you’re an engaged lady.  I want it to be noted that I didn’t even wear my engagement ring on my left hand because I was trying to ward off all Wedding Maniacs – but those sons-of-bitches will find you.

Wedding Maniac: That’s so great that you’re getting married!!!

Me: Ok

WM: George and I had the best wedding.  It was at a children’s museum.  I’ll send you the number!

Me: No thank you.

WM: How much weight are you trying to lose?

Me: Excuse me?

WM: For your wedding.  I remember only eating almonds and oranges the six weeks before my big day. 

Me: Is that a thing?

WM: LOL.  Hang in there.  I’m sure your dress will fit!

Now here’s the thing.  I bought my dress in December, my wedding was in July.  I tried it on prior to purchasing it, so I just assumed it had fit me.  What I didn’t realize is that when brides say, “fit” they mean that the dress hangs off your skeletal frame and you look like you might faint at any minute.  By the 500^th time a Wedding Maniac asked if my dress fit, I started to panic and think that maybe I should have taken it out of the David’s Bridal bag instead of leaving it in my trunk for months on end. 

Unfortunately, I didn’t have this epiphany until two weeks before my wedding – even though I was constantly being called fat. And shocker of all shocks, that fucking thing didn’t fit me under any circumstances.  And I’m not talking about the Wedding Maniac version of “fit” wherein you’re five pounds away from your baby weight and you can’t let go of your husband’s hand during the ceremony otherwise you’ll fall over.  I’m talking about the fat person version of “fit” wherein that motherfucking thing wouldn’t even zip up. Oops.

I was panicked.  I knew that no one in the world had ever suffered more than I was suffering in that moment.  I called my friend Jonas and informed him of this code-red situation.  He reminded me that his father and sister had just passed away within six months of each other and I wondered why I couldn’t catch a motherfucking break.  It was clear Jonas would only be able to help with funeral problems and this was a wedding crisis so I hung up with him and called my friend Dana over, ‘cause I knew she would be brutally honest and that no one she loved had died recently.  I tried the dress on for her and she was not impressed:

Dana: Are you concerned that your dress doesn’t fit?

Me: I forgot to lose weight.

Dana: Didn’t your tailor mention anything when you went to get it altered?

Me: Shit.

Dana: You forgot to get it altered?

Me: I CAN’T DO EVERYTHING, DANA!  HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO KNOW YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO ALTER YOUR DRESS?!  I THOUGHT I WAS SUPPOSED TO LOSE WEIGHT!

Dana: I mean… that would have been fine, but you didn’t even do that.

Me: Listen, you are my best friend.  Be honest with me.  Does this dress kind of fit?

Dana: No.

Me: DANA!

Dana: Alright, get yourself together.  I’m taking you to Nordstrom and you’re going to learn about Spanx.

Fucking Spanx.  I ended up paying $100 for nude underwear shorts that prevented me from breathing.

Here’s the deal.  I looked fat at my wedding.  And more embarrassingly, my friend Lionel found my dress unattended at one point, tried it on, and looked better than anything I could have possibly imagined.  I have attached photographic evidence – so feel free to decide who wore it best.  At the end of the day, I didn’t even care anymore.  I had bigger fish to fry with my horrible venue choice.