Reminiscing today about an event that, if it hadn’t actually happened to yours truly, wouldn’t believe it even if it was on the internet. Let the story begin.
A couple of years ago, my husband and I were invited to a very fancy smancy wedding in a major city in Michigan-- black tie, la di da affair. This was cause for severe angst on my part because “formal evening wear required” are not phrases in my slightly unsophisticated vocabulary nor in my REI/Eddie Bauer laden closet.
Gearing up for this adventure, I took two highly qualified styling friends (honest as the day is long) to a consignment shop to find an inexpensive, dazzling knock it out of the park kind of gown. After trying on racks full of lovely little numbers, I found one that was Visa card friendly, thin enhancing and black tie worthy. I’ll admit I felt fabulous in it, however, no amount of confidence could hide the underlying apprehension floating around the dress and me wearing it in this—out of my comfort zone—situation.
Fast forward to the gala affair where Rob and I sat in the temple parking lot (feeling like creepy fashion stalkers) scoping out the dresses of the other women arriving at the wedding site. Suddenly, Bingo! I did it! I hit the proverbial nail on the head for evening attire as women arrived prancing into the venue looking just as fabulous as I felt in my long flowing attire. My dress phobic anxieties drifted away as I gracefully stepped out of the car feeling like a million bucks.
Imagine my horror (the word doesn’t do justice to the stomach lurching, scream wanting to surge out of my gaping mouth feeling) as the door opened and standing right in front of me was a drop-dead gorgeous, approximately size two, sweet faced woman--IN MY EXACT SAME DRESS! I recoiled in fear, but my nightmare had only begun because when I whirled around to escape to the bathroom there were eight, yes, EIGHT more just like her. I had selected, out of all the gazillion dresses in the world, the exact duplicate of the “formal wear” that these young exquisite bridesmaids would be wearing down the aisle! Whispering to Rob in a guttural voice through clinched teeth with eyes darting from side to side like a caged animal ready for slaughter, “ Kmart—we must go to Kmart for another dress.” His response—“Relax, no big deal, all the men look alike in their tuxes.” The phrase, Men are from Mars…came to mind along with the vision of strangling him as he comfortingly reassured me how lucky it was to be in the wedding party as the tenth bridesmaid.
Needless to say cowering in a back corner of the reception while trying to cover up with my itty bitty shawl was a futile attempt to become invisible in a sea of pewter colored gowns—all nine of them—as I counted the minutes until this evening of fingernails screeching on a chalkboard was over.
Despite my wish that the floor would open and suck me into a big black hole to take me out of this humiliating experience, no one said a word or brought attention to my mortifying dilemma which proves that our preconceived minds can sometimes make a monumentally big deal out of nothing. Well, it was a big deal and on sleepless nights, haunts me to this day.
Oh, and the dress, you may ask? What happened to this trashy piece of garb I abhor? Back to the consignment shop waiting for the next black tie affair knowing that for this to happen again, the lottery jackpot would have to land in my lap—-not once but twice on a full moon with hell freezing over.
Thanks for reading # 56 of 7777.
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