My intention yesterday was to blog about my latest bridesmaid dress. And somehow between thinking about typing and actually starting to type…the post below happened. Oops.
Anyway, so yeah, I had lunch with T last weekend because we had wedding things to discuss…and a lot of catching up to do…and a dress had to change hands. Talking about wedding things wasn’t as boring as it normally is, but that might have had something to do with the fact that T is actually pretty fun to talk to and not at all a Bridezilla, so I didn’t even have to smack her around. But then came the dress.
If you recall, a few posts ago I mentioned something along the lines of wanting to choke the bitch who measured me for this dress because she insisted that my boobs would not fit in it. I argued and argued and since the dress had to be MADE, I couldn’t put the damn thing on and prove her wrong. So…on Sunday…when I got the dress home, I immediately stripped down and threw on the huge expanse of green that is my 78th bridesmaid’s dress. I zipped it all the way up, with no problem at all…until right about where my bra strap would normally be. And then the dress said, “Bitch, you can’t fit those knockers in here, you gon’ have to think AGAIN.” To which I responded, “Fuck you, dress. I am in charge here.”
I stood in the mirror for ten minutes struggling using my own hands plus two more to get the god damned thing on before resorting to…this. Curses on you, lady who measured me! I am more mad at you two years later now that I know you were right. You whore.
And the god damned thing still wouldn’t house the girls.
Anyone know a good place to go for alterations?
Stuck-in-my-head Song of the Day: "I have a Date" - The Vandals