Something blue is ME! Okay, not so much blue as…orange? What is the color for freaking out? Because that is me.
A couple days ago I decided to go wedding dress “browsing” with my mom. I really did not want to go into this bridal store.
I already knew it wasn’t *me,* but we went in anyway.
And then there was a consultant, and a bra/corset thing, and a petticoat, and layers, and things, and UGH. This is where the freak out begins. While the consultant was fetching dresses, I ran to the bathroom for a good cry. I didn’t want to be there, but I didn’t want to be rude. I sucked it up, a tear slipped out every now and then, the consultant hugged me, and I tried on whatever plaster-of-paris-like dress was presented. I did have the lady list a couple dresses in my file. They will be my “just in case” dresses. Surprisingly I didn’t mind the more form fitting [shorter] number. My mom hated it. But I liked the style.
This is not the dress. This is just me. Being miserable.
And apparently my style is considered “modest.” Which I guess is true.
I want sleeves.
And I don’t like cleavage.
NO CLEAV[E] CLUB MEMBER FO’ LYF.
But I do want a shorter gown. Shorter than that. ^
Dearest Dream Dress,
Where did you come from??