This weekend I finally received the bridesmaid's dress I'm supposed to wear to LB's wedding. It's really not all that bad. It is a cornflower blue knee-length skirt with an ivory strapless top. I hope LB has arranged for plenty of hors d'oeuvres at the reception because I have declared that I will fast from the time I slip on that dress until after the ceremony. I know it doesn't seem like a long fasting commitment, but just knowing that I am forbidden from eating or drinking will make me famished after just five minutes. I hope it is a short ceremony or I may go out of my mind and begin munching on the bouquet. The reason for this odd diet? As I mentioned, the top is ivory. I have already envisioned my first shrimp cocktail plummeting from my lips to land squarely on my bosom. Or perhaps it will be the red wine or maybe a bit of vinaigrette from a bite of salad. Heck, I will probably drop my open lipstick tube with my luck! (Note to self: apply lipstick before dressing, just in case.)
So this weekend I spend a miserable Saturday driving from mall to mall searching for a strapless bra and ivory shoes. This type of shopping trip should be banned under the Geneva Convention as cruel and unusual punishment. For one, I have discovered that I am an odd bra size...one that strapless bras do not come in. I'm convinced that the strapless bra makers of America or China or wherever strapless bras are made have conspired to ensure that us of a larger disposition should not be allowed to wear a strapless top. Perhaps they think there is too much risk that the girls might resist being restrained by the polyester and spandex and pop freely out for all the world to see causing a wardrobe malfunction that will scar children and frighten little old ladies. Nevertheless, after hours of struggling with way too many bras, I finally bought one without trying it on and shuffled out of the store with my head down in defeat.
Then comes the horrific task of finding ivory shoes in Minnesota in October. It's cold here people! There are no ivory, white or otherwise shoes in this state! I was reduced to searching through the summer clearance aisles in countless shoe stores hoping to find one last pair. The bride has given very little guidance on the type or color of shoes she would like me to wear. I've been left out here on my own trying to decide the difference between white and ivory and stuffing my fat feet into the size 6 clearance sandals hoping they'll fit. Finally, after a long day, I was hungry and tired and I had a headache. I stopped at one last shoe store before heading home and declaring that I'll go barefoot. There on the clearance rack a glimmer caught my eye. A small little sparkle....ok maybe a lot of sparkle. Keep in mind that my mental state at this point is little on the desperate side. With something so shiny dangled right there in front of me, it's no wonder I snapped and bought the darn things! After a good meal and a little rest I have slowly realized that these wild little shows may have entirely too much bling (if there is such a thing). LB has teased that I always have to be the center of attention (the merits of this argument are irrelevant). He has said that he wouldn't be surprised if I showed up to the wedding wearing a tiara....maybe he wasn't that far off. So, PK was kind enough to spend way too much time taking pictures of my little piggies last night so that I could post them on this blog and ask the opinion of my friends, family and complete strangers. Is this too much bling and will my future sister-in-law be mortified? I invite you to post your comments (good or bad) right here. Y'all know that I obsess about little things like this and then I ask everyone I know to offer their opinions. Then I disregard the advice and agonize some more before I finally just give up and make no decision at all. So, here I am pleading for your input and making no commitment to abide by or even consider the outcomes. Thanks in advance!
Please be kind and disregard my fat feet and deformed toes.
shoes, wedding, bridesmaid, bling, shopping