On a Wing and Definitely a Prayer

As the wedding draws near, I've been more and more apprehensive about my wedding dress. I'm eleven weeks pregnant, and have been nervous about the dress for a while.

When I bought the dress back in April, it was a little snug, but I'd planned to lose five or ten pounds prior to the wedding - not conceive a child. Knowing it was a bit snug, I'd asked the seamstress to let out the side seams all the way before I went in for last week's fitting. (It's not as if there were yards of material, but I needed all the help I could get.)

The first thing I asked when they zipped up the dress last week was, "When are you going to let this out?" The news that they already had was shocking. I haven't gained any weight at all, but I suppose the dress doesn't lie. My waistline is apparently more ready for the whole baby thing than I thought.

When I left the shop last week, the seamstresses were all reassuring me that this has happened time and again, and they'd be able to fix it right up. The word "gusset" was bandied about and I said sure, do whatever.

The next fitting was this afternoon at 2p. And they'd added gussets, all right. Two of them, about an inch and a half each, down each side seam. I guess it wouldn't have been that bad if the top of the dress hadn't been completely covered in lace. Now there's a bunch of lace, a white satin strip, a bunch of lace, and a white satin strip.

I figured they had a plan. I was bitterly disappointed to find out I was wrong.

The lace covering the top of the gown was more like a rose-y applique, so of course it was too unique to be matched to anything else. The only other lace on the dress was a bit on the bow for my train, so they tore that apart to see if they could use it to cover the big side seams.

No dice.

The skirt was supposed to be a pretty A-line, but where they'd added the gusset went down to five inches below my hips, and cut the A-line up. It looked like they'd started to build a straight skirt but then suddenly decided to flow it into an A-line.

I couldn't even look in the mirror while the lady pinned and repinned the dress. I stood there for nearly 45 minutes while seamstresses went back and forth, yanking on the dress and trying to come up with some sort of something that would work.

During one of the times I was left standing in front of the mirror, I had a "moment." One of those moments where Rationality says, "Hasta la vista, baby" and your eyes get a bit wild. I turned to a random customer waiting for a seamstress and said, "Do you think it would be crazy to buy a new dress a week before the wedding?"

She said, "Are you pregnant? Because your dress practically screams it. Honey, I wouldn't blame you a bit. Get something you like."

Debra came around the corner. This is the woman who helped me find the original dress, and for some reason, became the calm in my storm. Debra, I said, I'm buying a new dress. She nodded in agreement. Let's go upstairs, she said.

I purchased my dress at Blustein's Bride's House, a shop that opened in 1918 in downtown St. Louis. It's in a three-story building that still has the oldest elevator I've ever seen - the kind where you pull the door closed and pull the gate closed and then go. I love the smell of old buildings, but mostly I love their secrets. And the secret at Bride's House is the third floor.

The third floor houses rows and rows and rows of "stock" dresses. I'm sure that at some point in the past few years these dresses were the creme de la creme of what you could order off the retail floor, but now were relegated to the third floor storage area. I don't even know if they advertise the fact that they have this area, but Debra rocked my world when she told me about it.

I'd told her I wanted something different, something a little untraditional. She commented that I wouldn't find it on the retail floor, because all the dresses were cookie-cutter sleeveless yuck this year. (She didn't say yuck, but you know what I mean.) Then she brought me upstairs.

It was a little creepy at first - the lighting is really sparse, and it's hard to explain just how many dresses are in the cavernous storage area. It's either Wedding Heaven or Wedding Hell, depending on your point of view. But I'll be damned if I didn't find over 15 dresses to try on that first visit, and the "perfect" one was stashed away.

Of course, Bride's House isn't for the faint of checkbook, so I was charged $500 for the off-the-rack dress anyway. But I was just happy that it wasn't sleeveless yuck.

Debra and I went upstairs today, however, on a mission. Find a "fat dress" - my term - that was do-able. "Keep an open mind, Michelle," Debra reminded me as we rode the rickety elevator upstairs. I knew what she meant. Eight days before the wedding is not the time to be ultra-picky, or I'd end up with Gusset Hell down below.

And then a miracle from God occurred - I found a dress. Actually, I found about ten try on - all in sizes that would actually fit. Back downstairs we headed.

Debra was great - I swear, I'd rank her right up there with the nurses who helped me in the maternity ward when Justin was born. This has just been so nerve-wracking for me. She told me not to listen to her or anyone else, and make decisions quickly. Either I liked it or I didn't. I agreed - narrow them down, and fall in love or just don't.

By 3:30p I'd narrowed my choices down to three. Well, really two, but I needed an opinion on the last one. Actually, I needed an opinion altogether. So I called in the troops.

I called Carol first. She's closest to downtown, but had no idea I'd been having trouble with my dress. She promised to be there as quickly as she could, but it might be 4:25p, is that okay? Sure, I said. Whatever. Just get here.

Then I called my mom. Now, talking my mother into coming downtown by herself is a feat in and of itself. But when I also have to tell my poor mother she'll be driving home in rush hour traffic, I was afraid she'd pass out. But damn, she was a trooper, and agreed to come down.

At 4:30p, nearly an hour after I'd put in the first call to the cavalry, they both arrived together. Debra and I ran through the fashion show, and the vote was unanimous. We'd found a wonderful, beautiful dress that needed very little altering. I was over the moon.

Until, that is, I found out Bride's House is run by greedy bastards.

They wanted me to finish paying for my original dress's alterations - an extra $80, and then I'd have to pay for the new dress - another $500 - and alterations - an extra $80. I realize that some people plunk down $3,500 for a wedding gown without batting an eye, but I am not one of them.

Debra was not happy with the decision, and promised me that she'd talk to them again in the morning. Their stance was that they'd already done "too many" alterations to the old dress. Her stance (and mine) is that nothing had been cut off the old dress, and it would take about 30 minutes of work to put it right back into saleable condition.

The more I thought about it, the angrier I got. Their cost on these dresses is around $275. Here I am taking stock dresses (read: long ago lost their appeal to most) off their hands, and they won't cut me a break? At all? Someone needs to sit down with the owner of the shop and explain to him (yes, it's a him) what the difference is in some revenue versus no revenue. These dresses are considered inventory items, which any business owner knows is wasted overhead. They have to pay to store them, to clean them, and eventually dispose of them. So give me a freakin' break.

Also, it bugs me that they know they have me over a barrel because I need the dress in a week. It's not like I can run out tomorrow afternoon and find a different dress at a different shop.

Of course, my alter-ego The Business Owner would say, pfft, too bad so sad, lady. Eh.

Debra told me not to lose any sleep over it, and that she'd pray over it tonight and talk to the powers that be in the morning and call me at work. (She's a lovely woman.) I've already decided that, even if I have to borrow the money from my parents, I won't be getting married in a wedding dress that makes me cry. I'm not going to spend the next 30 years regretting that I didn't just suck it up and spend the extra money to look good on my wedding day. (Yeah, I know, how many times will I look at the pictures or whatever? But still, on the days that I do, I want to be happy.)

Much happier,
michelle

Posted by Michelle at September 16, 2004 10:54 PM | TrackBack