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Laughter and Love: In which the bride has her final meltdown

December 4, 2010

So, I only really had 2 times in the whole planning process where I would characterize my behavior as unreasonable , insane, or melt-down-y.  One was the post-engagement  “I don’t want to plan a wedding” freak out, which involved crying and whining.  The second was the Thursday before the wedding—and it involved my dress.

A little background on my dress: I went dress shopping with Bridesmaid J in January.  We went to our first appointment and showed up WAY early, so there was no consultant to help us.  They told J and I we were welcome to pull dresses and try them on ourselves, so thank goodness J knew what the hell she was doing.  We pulled about 5 dresses and I tried them on.  There were 3 NOs (including 1 gigantic ballgown which was so heavy I don’t know how I would have moved), 1 maybe, and then I tried on the final gown, and said, “I think this is the one.”  They offered to let me buy the sample, which fit pretty well already, so I bought it and took it home (or to hide at J’s house, rather).

Photos J snapped secretly in the dressing room

Then, I pretty much began to immediately second guess myself.  And then I had a meltdown about it.

There were so many other occasions where I managed to keep my cool when things didn’t go as planned—like when the DJ was late to the reception, when the hotel manager who had assured me we had a block of rooms reserved told me that they had a mix up and then had no rooms for our guests, or the salon where I booked appointments for myself and bridal party informed me that had lost our reservations.  In all of those cases, I took a deep breath and just said, “OK.  How can we handle this?  What is the next step?”  I wish I had been able to do that here as well.

My MOH, Jules, had flown in the week before the wedding for my bachelorette party, and was staying with D and I at our apartment.  Thursday night, she said, “Oh, I haven’t seen your dress since it’s been altered!  Can I see it on you?”

Obligingly, I put on my dress, which I had picked up from the dress shop a few days before.  I loved it when I tried it on the first time, and then I grew less and less in love with it.  I never contemplated getting a second dress because there wasn’t enough time to get one and there wasn’t any room in the budget, so I told myself to suck it up.

When I put on my dress on Thursday night, Jules zipped me up, and there was a huge crease running across the stomach of the dress from where the seamstress had made alterations to the underskirt.  It was not laying right and it made it look (to me anyway), like I had a giant roll of fat on my stomach.   I looked at it in the mirror and said to Jules, “I hate it.  It looks terrible.  Can you just unzip me?  I need to take it off and I don’t want to see it again until the wedding day when I absolutely have to put it on.”

There were no tears or yelling.  Just matter of fact statements to Jules that I hated my dress and there was nothing that anyone could do about it.

Jules was understandably upset for me and worried I might flip my shit about this.  She tried to tell me it looked great and that her mother, who was coming to the wedding, could probably repair what the seamstress had messed up.  I didn’t want to hear it.  Poor Jules.

Later that night, I was online and here is an excerpt from the actual gchat conversation I had with my awesome friend A that knocked me back to my senses:

me: I just tried on my dress again

and I really don’t like it

A: Nooooo you love it.  It’s going to look amazing on you.

me: I haven’t liked it since I bought it, but I was hoping after alterations it would be better, but it still doesn’t fit right.  the dress itself is fine, but when I put it on, it puckers all over the place and there are all these lines from the under-skirts not sitting right

it’ll be fine

it’s just a stupid dress

A: You’re going to be so beautiful and I’m going to cry like a tiny girl.

me: or you will be unable to pull your eyes away from the wrinkles and bunching of fabric at my midsection.  OK, I’m going to stop pouting now because I am being stupid

A: No you’re not!  You’re a bride. You’re allowed to be stressed and annoyed.

me: I had been doing so well up until I put my dress on

A: Did Jules see you in it?

me: yeah

A: Did she think the bunching was bad?

me: she agrees that there are issues with the seams on the underskirt that are causing some bunching,  but she doesn’t go so far as to agree with me that it looks terrible on me and makes me look like I have a huge beer gut

A: Haha, yeah, it would take an act of congress to make you look fat.

me: I don’t think I actually have a huge beer gut, but the dress is just very unforgiving.  even my spanx are not saving me.  I should have gotten a dress with a corset

A: Nah, your dress is going to be awesome. And if not, whatevs. People will be drunk pretty much immediately. And your bouquet will cover any bunching in pictures. [emphasis mine]

me: excellent!  this is the kind of realism I need

me: thanks for getting me sane again

So, there you have it.  Me being petulant and refusing the help that was offered to me to fix it, but luckily, I have amazing friends who were endlessly supportive and were able to snap me back to reality.  In the end, Jules’ mom was my fairy-godmother and came and repaired the underskirt the day of the wedding and the (probably less horrible that I imagined it) horrible creasing and bunching was stopped.  But seriously, how good is that advice A gave me?: “people will be drunk pretty much immediately and your bouquet will cover the bunching.”

If there is 1 thing I learned, it’s keep people around you who are not crazy-meltdown-enablers and always turn to people with a good sense of humor and perspective to keep you from losing your shit.

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