We’ve all been there, your friend gets engaged and it’s wedding time. First order of business… the dress! Over the past few days I have been wedding dress shopping not once but twice. Although I greatly enjoy my less girly days there are times when I really like the thought of being the over the top queen for a day.

I have never been the average woman who thinks she must be married. I’ve always been the person who prefers single life. In fact, I honestly was the woman who always wanted to have the huge wedding, the party, collect the gifts, and then quietly go home to my own house and discretely not file the marriage certificate.

As we waded through tons of tulle, yards of lace, and those big dresses that look like they were caught in some sort of paper shredder we laughed and had a fabulous time as she picked out her dress. Now I’m no stranger to dress shopping. I’ve honestly been more often than the average person (because who doesn’t love Gone with the Wind), but let me tell you about the trauma I suffered on this trip…

Once we had the deal sealed on my friends dress, we headed across the street to another shop that had a dress I had been eyeing for some time. I really wanted to see it in person and look at it on my body. Let’s face it, no dress in real life looks like it does in the magazine unless you’re a 100 lb. woman and most of us are not.
I walk into the shop and ask the 20 something girl at the desk if they have the dress I’ve been searching on dress sites for months and she assures me they do. Yay!! I know my regular dress size is a 10 and has been since I bought my first prom dress forever ago. She pulls the dress and brings it to my room. It’s an 8… Now I’m not a big girl, but wedding dresses run small to begin with. I haven’t been a size 6 since junior high, but I’d really like to see this dress on. Here is where the fun begins.

I take this dress off the hanger and decide that since it’s a form fitted dress and likely a tad bit small I should probably go in through the top. I wallow through an extra 30 yards of lace and fluff to put my head in the bottom of this dress and begin to shimmy up through the middle to where my boobs are supposed to go. First problem arises once I wiggle my chest up to the sweetheart neckline of this dress, going up my ample bosom went into it relatively easy, but not without some extra effort. So now I have the neckline in the right place, but the hip section of the dress is around my waist and rib cage. I begin to slowly work the hips of the dress down to half wedge the hip section snuggly around the top of my hips were it abruptly exposes my fondness for iced donuts and refuses to go any further. So now I’m alone in this 6×6 dressing room in a $2000 gown that won’t continue down and I can’t get back up.

I’m trapped like a rat. I stop wriggling and contemplate for a moment being pried out of this dress by a woman I’ve just met while my friend documents the ordeal with pictures (yes, she’s that friend). I decide to proceed cautiously alone. As I pull so very gently while wiggling like a snake trying to shed its skin, I realize on the way back up my boobs are now stuck as well. This is beginning to be less and less of a brilliant idea as I go. After a lot of squishing and fine finagling, I manage to get one of my boobs out and then the other. Once they are free I can pull the dress back up over my head to escape. Needless to say, from that point on everything I tried on was a 12 (10 actually) and I managed to walk away unscathed, lesson learned.