I had a conversation with a girl who described how she was trapped in the hell matrix of shopping for a bridesmaid dress. Here is her dispatch from the frontlines.
HER: I had to go bridesmaid dress shopping on Saturday. If you thought the baby shower was gayer than gay, you have no idea.
ME: haha. Was it you and the girls?
HER: There were overbearing eastern european megalomaniac high pressure saleswomen. The fattest brides I’ve ever seen. And one woman in a halter wedding gown (white) who was at least pushing 65.
ME: Wow. What gift do you get the blushing bride who has 65 years worth of accumulated stuff?
HER: The saleslady suggested she wear a cape for modesty’s sake. But she adamantly refused and kept parading around haughtily while her withered groomsman, 20 years her junior at least, slumped in the corner with his coffee cup. It was a depressing scene to be sure.
ME: A beaten man. Barely alive.
HER: I tried on like one dress and said “K. Good to go. Let’s just take this one.” But no, they want you to pore over every last detail, photograph them all, revisit the choices. For 3 hours.
ME: Psychotic!
HER: My mom came in to get a mother of the groom dress, and sort of sighed heavily. She’s like “What color will you wear?” “Black.” “Emily!!” “What? I can wear it again for any occasion. Bar mitzvahs… funerals…”. Megan (the bride-to-be) instead settled on a putrid shade of mocha. We’ll look like gussied up turds. Turd cakes.
ME: The minister will be Mr. Hanky. Howdy ho everybody!
HER: It’s just a sea of color swatches and taffeta and a sense of crushing defeat. Not to mention the pitying looks at the bridesmaids for not having “made it”. Always a bridesmaid. Just like the damn Swedes at the world junior hockey championships. The room was pepto-bismol pink. Like being in a turbulent stomach. And she still couldn’t find a dress! So we get to do it all over again! Wheeee!!!! SHOOT ME.
ME: It’s exactly the nightmare most men imagine it to be.
[crypto-donation-box]
