If The Dress Fits…Or Not, Wear It

I confess. Never before have I bought a dress that deliberately did not fit me. Until the Mother-of-the-Bride dress. Darling Daughter sends me a picture of a dress online that I love. I walk into the bridal shop and begin describing the style of dress. The shop owner points behind me.  I turn around and there it is, the exact dress, hanging on display like it was just waiting there for me to pick up. Perfect steel blue color. Beautiful. I try on ten more dresses just to be sure. Then go with the first one.  In the wrong size. I can buy it off the rack, still not cheap, but a whole lot less than ordering another one in a closer fit.  It’s easy to alter,  the shop owner says as she pulls here and tightens there. Sold, I say.

I start worrying about it the minute I step foot outside of the shop.  What did I just do? The wedding is six months away.  I find an alterations lady who tells me not to show up until after prom season.  That’s cutting it close,  I think.  She sounds Eastern European. There’s something about her accent that makes me do as I’m told. Not that I could have gotten in any sooner.

About four months into the wait,  I decide to try on the dress. Ut-oh. The dress is a little snug where it hadn’t been before. In the hips,  to be exact.  And what, wait a minute, looser up top!  How did that happen???  Are you freakin’ kidding me, I shout to myself!  This is, Are You Freakin’ Kidding Me Number Three, out of three, if you recall from my last blog.  The day of my fitting appointment,  I jump in the car and drive like I’m late to the party and will miss the hors d’oeuvres.    The alterations lady starts pulling and tugging in different places.  I get nervous.  Here’s the problem, she says. She places her hands on either side of my waist. You are tiny here. Okay. Then she drops her hands to my hips. Bigger here.  This makes it hard,  she says. Story of my life.


It’s like every cell in my body got the memo that I’m, shhhh, 60.

Hey, did you hear?  She’s 60. Let’s not waste any time. Better start moving things around a bit. A little more here. A little less there. That should do it. Sheesh.

Then there’s the built-in shelf bra. Something wrong here, the alterations lady says. She puts her hands under my breasts. She apologizes and says sorry to touch your boobs as she pushes them up.  No problem, I say. I feel like I’m with my grandmother. She’s going to tell me like it is whether I want to hear it or not.   Go put bra on.  Yes ma’m. No, that’s too thick bra. Go to Kmart and buy thin bra.  What I want is for her to alter the back, taking it in, making it tighter to keep my boobs in place.  I’m not sure I’m getting my point across. She assures me she understands. Come back June 25th, she says. We leave July 1st for the wedding. No worry, she says.  Of course I worry. It’s only one of the biggest days of our lives, Darling Daughter and I.

It’s pick-up day.  I race again to the appointment.  Oh no, the dress is not tight enough to hold my boobs in place.  I try it on for My Guy who says no one will notice, it all looks fine. I don’t feel fine though. What I definitely don’t want is to be uncomfortable at the wedding. I had already conceded to wearing Spanx or some version of them. I can’t have my boobs loose and unaccounted for, no way.

And so it begins. The search for a solution. The strapless bra shows in the back. Won’t work. I watch YouTube videos on how to tape your boobs up and in place with sports tape. I practiced with the help of My Guy.  We are not sure this is going to work either.  We look for wider tape. Nope. I go to Belk’s Department Store and find these individual adhesive looking things like big bandaids to put under each breast.  Now I have cone boobs. The tan adhesive also shows in the see-through part of the dress. The days click off. Desperate, I land at Kohl’s where I find a little shelf bra with clear adhesive sides. This just might work I think. It says to practice. I nix this idea since I don’t want any give on the adhesive from over use. The last thing I need is for one side to pop while I’m on the dance floor.  I have now accumulated a collection of strapless solutions.

It’s the day of the wedding. My Guy and I reposition the strapless contraption several times before getting it just right. It’s definitely a two-person job.  He’s being very patient.  He gives me passes on my brief craziness.  Finally, the perfect position.

It’s a wrap. Literally. Off I go with full confidence that everything is both as and where it should be.

And just so you know, the adhesive stuck.

As for the wedding. Perfect in every way. Beautiful bride, beautiful day, beautiful wedding, and beautiful blending of friends and families, old, new and ex’s.  Do I hear an Amen,  Sistas?

Copyright © 2018 Soulfire Woman, All Rights Reserved

Dyanne Kelley

Dyanne Kelley

Soulfire Woman

I’m Dyanne Kelley. You can find me @soulfirewoman where I share my musings, wisdom, coaching, mentorships and soon-to-be book, “Soulfire Woman: How to Torch the Past; Ignite the Present, and Set Your Soul on Fire.” For a sneak peak at the first chapter, fill out the form below. And shoot me your comments. I love to read your feedback. 

Give Up? Never!

This only sets my resolve even more. I will figure this out. I’m prying these plates apart if it’s the last thing I do. By now I’m trying to accept that I may have to throw away my favorite pie plate, one of those special pottery kinds, because of the mallet I may take to it.
After a week in the freezer, I try again. Not budging. Not even a little. Feeling desperate now I run it under the hottest water I can. Then I soak it. Cemented. What the H —E—Double L is in this crust?? This is no longer a cooking fail but a test of will.

Conversations With My Mom

She tells me she got herself a cake and invited the neighbors. How many came, I ask. Thirteen. All at once? It takes 10 more minutes to get an answer to this. No, she says, a couple at a time. Did they wear masks, I ask? Ten more minutes. Yes. Well, how did you eat the cake with your masks on? She starts laughing hysterically. We kept lifting up the masks for each bite and laughed at each other. It was fun, she said.

Covid, old folks style.

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