The specter of The Ill-Fitting Wedding Dress has been hanging over my head for weeks. Friday evening The Fiancé and I sat outside, listened to 1980s country music, and cooked on the grill. With every bite of grilled boudin and sliced sharp cheddar, I tried not to think about shimmying into the wedding dress the next afternoon.
Saturday afternoon we went downtown for lunch, as we do most every Saturday. Buffalo Joe’s has some of the best burgers in that way that small town places often do. They serve a number of sandwiches on crusty yummy French rolls with good and crispy French fries. I got a salad. A chef’s salad with honey mustard dressing – on the side.
The Fiancé got hamburger steak, which I don’t even like, thank goodness. My plate was pretty. It’s a good salad – lots of lush, colorful greens, grated cheddar, slices of ham and turkey. Still, it wasn’t exactly a chicken nugget basket, you know.
Back home, I addressed a few invitations, folded laundry, tried to ignore the butterflies. In another couple of hours I’d have that dress on. I hope.
Last Sunday my mother brought me a package of six Reese’s peanut butter cups as an Easter happy. I haven’t touched them and tried not to think of them.
I went to the local salon where a stylist named Tiffany cuts my hair. I cannot do anything with it; my hair is fine and thin and stubborn. I gave up on it years ago. She tried valiantly, curling and spraying and curling and spraying. Before I left she told me not to try brushing it later as that might break my hair. (That is a lot of product in that hair, ya’ll.) She said when I get in the shower to just let it “melt.”
I realized about that time that I had no earrings to wear, or necklace, or any jewelry.
I called my friend, Jane, who is the best. She flew over with umpteen pairs of earrings, decided none of them would work, and ran out to buy some more.
We got to the church. I had a bag packed with makeup for touchups, spanx, the earrings, and the dress. As soon as we got there I put it on. I thought positive thoughts as Jane and her daughter zipped me into it. And huh, it fit. It fit well. Not tight, not uncomfortable. It fit! I never got those spanx out of the bag. Yay!
After the photographer got there and we began moving around taking pictures I realized something; the dress actually needs to be taken up. It would look better and be more comfortable.
The walls and ceiling of the sanctuary are pretty, dark wood. Built in the late 1800s, the old windows are Tiffany stained glass. We were there at four-thirty, which is around what time the wedding will be. Usually I’m there in the morning, when the sun is high and it fills the room. I was glad to see how pretty the windows would look at late afternoon.
We walked across the street to the Fellowship House, a big two-story house that is an annexed church building. It has a deep, wide porch that wraps around the front and one side of the house. We took pictures on the porch, sitting on the rail, standing on the steps.
We left there and went to a parishioner’s house, one who has an incredible yard. I’d never seen this part of it; a jewel of a courtyard that was peaceful, cool, and dark in a soothing way. We took pictures all around, at which point we’d been at it about two hours.
I wasn’t tired from smiling but my back hurt from standing tall. “Shoulders back!” the photographer kept saying. “Arch your back!” I must have worse posture than I realize.
I changed back into street clothes at Jane’s house. When I got home, I pulled my hair up and back and took off most of the makeup. I poured a glass of wine and sat down outside with The Fiancé, who was grilling kebobs: vegetable, chicken, and shrimp. I was giddy. I didn’t realize just how worried I’d been about the dress not fitting until it did fit and fit splendidly.
Nothing to do but relax for the next six weeks, right?