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Say Yes?

to the dress. I’m not really much of one for reality television. I do get my kick out of watching shows like Top Chef, Chopped, House Hunters International, and my one guilty (ish) pleasure is Say Yes to the Dress. So even though I’ve been told not to believe everything I read/see/hear I found myself having expectations of a bridal appointment being something like going to Kleinfelds. Now I wasn’t expecting the great selection but the formula of waiting for the consultant like at an appointment, going over budget, style, wedding location etc. Then the stylist brings you gowns to try on. And they either work or they didn’t. If they do you gracefully march out to where your party is sitting to get their opinion.

This appointment wasn’t quite like that. We walked in and met with our consultant. She showed us to the bridal suite and showed us where the various dresses were hanging, ball gown, sheath, mermaid, a-line, etc. Then she noticed the pictures in my hand, quickly looked through and then told my mom and I to pull a few dresses we wanted to try on and she would also pull three to start.

Talk about a bit overwhelming. I have no idea what these dresses look like as they are suffocated in plastic garment bags and I’m trying to find something that’s me. We walked around and pulled 6-7 dresses. They were arranged by designer within the shape category, so when I saw one Lazaro dress I pulled it even as I was noticing the dress next to it. Since they were right next to each other and appeared to be similar from their scrunched up position in the plastic bag I left it.

Then it was time to try dresses on.

The stylist had brought in a few dresses as well and we started with those. The first dress was the epitome of a ballgown. Big, tulle, a bit sparkly even, slipping it on I waited for her to zip me up and as I looked in the mirror I was disappointed. First off, it was hard to mentally get psyched up for this fitting, my ‘entourage’ was consisted of one, and she happened to be in the room with me, there was no triumphant walk out to show her, but that alone wasn’t what was bothering me, I knew as soon as I stepped into the dress I was a marshmellow.  I hated how I looked, I felt fluffy and overdone and immeadiately knew I wanted to show off more of my figure.

Then the stylist put me in her second pick, again I hated it. It was another ballgown and even though I had said I didn’t want to try it on she insisted. I tried on one more dress, the second style I had in mind a lacey, figure-hugging, exquisite dress, but it was so heavy! I felt like I was being swallowed up so I started giving my mom those ‘help me!’ eyes. She got up and wandered back out to the room as soon as the fourth  dress, the Lazaro,  was deigned a ‘no’.

Helpless I stayed in the fitting room while mom and the sales lady each brought dresses by for my immediate veto. A few minutes later, just as I was about to say this is ridiculous, let’s call it a day my mom brought back the second Lazaro dress. The one I had left behind because I tried the dress next to it on.

Mr. Sailboat, I know you are only checking my spelling and grammar when you read through these posts, but I’ll live with a few mistakes here….please don’t read any further or your surprise will be spoiled!

I gave it a whirl. Stepping into the dress I held my breath as the stylist zipped me up. Looking at the mirror I think a froze for a second or two, taking it in. I smiled a bit, I liked it. Turning I saw mom with the tears in her eyes that she had thought she wouldn’t have. It was perfect. A vintage flair with a bit of lace and a bit of sparkle. It fit down to my hips and then had a soft flowing train.

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