Third Time's A...Charm?

Well, now we all know what this post is going to be about. Dunh dunh dunh. But first (lemme take a selfie?) I would like to say a few things. I am going to gladly tell you all the story of the dress saga that I swear could only happen to me. However, I really have done some nice, long thinking on this matter and I’ve reached several conclusions. And I want to make sure you know these things before reading the crazy awful story.

1. Though I, like most brides, am so very in love with the idea of “THE dress” and I really do want to feel beautiful on my wedding day, please make no mistake: This day isn’t about a dress. Or flowers. Or String Quartets. Or invitation designs. This day is about Andrew and myself and the deep, deep love we share with each other. A former teacher of mine pointed this out to me (Thanks Mrs. Moore!), and I must say my thought process was already there. She just gently reminded me of this.
2. I can, quite literally, wear a feed bag to our wedding and I know, with 100% realness, that my Andrew will absolutely still cry. Still tell me (and truly believe) I am beautiful. Still marry me. The fairytale will still happen.
3. It is very easy to get caught up on the process of planning all the things. And it is very, VERY easy to become overwhelmed and think that every single thing has gone wrong. And that was probably a large portion of why I cried yesterday (yes, spoiler alert, I cried.) But honestly? Most things are going right. And the few things that aren’t, I am immediately reminded by family, friends, Andrew, and that little whisper from God that you know what? Who. Cares. This day will be special. I already know that. And I truly do know that most things are going right and most things have already lined up. And it is 7 weeks away. So at this point, let go and let God y’all.
4. I am not crying or sitting in a corner somewhere mourning the loss of my dress. I am happy, excited to share the story, excited about my big day and have moved on. Boom.

Now. All of that being said. Lemme tell you a story.

We arrive at Belle Bridal, and I run in and run to the bathroom because my bladder is the size of a pea and clearly the one hour drive was far too long. As I’m running into the bathroom I take in two things: a short, pint-sized woman with a mullet wearing a Bengals’ jersey, and a 6’3” AMAZON black woman, also wearing a Bengals’ jersey, but hers are paired with 6-inch stiletto heel boots. Now, I had to pee, so I didn’t have time to focus on these two rather foul looking woman who were obviously there to find their perfect dress and needed fashion advice.

I emerge from the bathroom a few minutes later, smiling and ready to try on my dress. The mulleted one approaches me and says, “Are you ready?” I looked at her quite blankly because I couldn’t fathom what she was talking about, so I then assumed she meant ready for the big day, or some other small talk. So I politely say “Yes! So excited!” and sit down. She then opens the fitting room door and makes a motion with her hand implying I should enter. It was then that I realized it. The mulleted one and the Amazon were EMPLOYEES. Of this bridal shop. Oh dear sweet mother….that should have been the sign to go.

I get into the fitting room and let the mulleted one, whom we will call Pam because I don’t know her name, begins helping me get into my gown. It looked so pretty. Once I was in, we called for Mom and Leslie to come in to see the process of lacing me up, since they will be the ones to do it on the wedding day.

She begins by pulling a completely loose piece of fabric out and says, “Well, they normally sew this into the corset. But this one isn’t sewn. Don’t know why. Well, you ladies can just tag team and you hold one side and you hold the other and it should work out.”

So yeah, okay, that doesn’t sound fishy that an entire back piece of my dress isn’t sewn in at all….nope, I’m not worried. Sounds great. Keep going Pam.

She starts lacing me up and I suddenly hear “rrrrrrrriiiiiip” and mom and Leslie both gasp in horror and stare at the back of my dress. But Pam, good ol’ Pam goes,

“Huh. Well that’s never happened before. Well, no worries. Your seamstress can fix it.”

I am looking into the mirror and can see nothing, other than the looks on faces that primarily suggest horror. But I remain calm. And then I hear…”rrrrrriiiiiiip”…..*gasps*. Pam:

“Wow. Well now I just don’t know. This has never happened.”

At this point, mom and Leslie descend like a pack of wolves and begin looking at the dress. Upon closer examination, they realize that none of the loops on my corset back have actually been sewn into the corset. They are instead, barely, BARELY attached by thin wisps of thread on a thin piece of fabric outside the corset. So every time Pam puts a lace through it and tugs it just rips off. They point this out to Pam, and she says,

“Well, I tell you what. We just won’t put you in the dress today. Let’s put it back on the hanger and you can take it with you and your seamstress can fix it.” She then laughs and goes, “Wow. This dress is cursed!”

Yeah…that did it. My mother looks at the mulleted one and goes, “No, we will NOT take this ripped up dress to have our seamstress fix it. This is UNacceptable, and you need to go call whomever you need to call to take care of this. This is shoddy work and we are NOT taking this dress in this condition. We ordered this dress FOUR months ago, you messed up the order, then it arrived late and was damaged in shipping, and then you all magically reproduced a new dress in 8 days?! No.”

The mulleted one retreated to go call her boss, and my mom just keeps going off. I am on the verge of crying. Leslie is trying to remain calm but mentions something about feeling hateful words creeping into her tongue. I suddenly couldn’t breathe and just wanted out of the dress, so they help me climb out of it. Once I am out, I can finally see the back of the dress and I realize what has happened. It looked awful. It looked like I had sewn it myself. There was no way it was wearable, and even if it was fixed I’m guessing it wasn’t going to work.

We all retreat to the couches outside the fitting room, and the mulleted one and the Amazon, whom I now learned is name Luhtaria (Yes. Really.) both come out and sit down and say they have spoken to Stacey, the owner, and they have options for me. They were as follows:

1. Take the ripped up dress, as-is, and let your seamstress fix it and…..
   OH HELL to the NAW you did not just come back out here and tell us what you told us 13 seconds ago and we all said NO that was NOT an option?!?!
2. Okay, sorry ladies. Um…..okay. Take the ripped up dress, and we will mail you a check next week for $100 to go towards the extra alteration.
3. We can send this dress back to the designer and give her an earful and tell her we need her to make you an entirely new dress and we will have it to you in 10 days.

 

My responses were as follows:

1. NO.
2. Yeah, right. NO!
3. Y’all already did that. Remember? This is dress #2. So um…NO.

Back to the drawing board for Pam.

Ten minutes later, after two more phone calls to the elusive Stacey, Pam returns with secret option number four:

1. Okay, leave the dress here and our alterations lady, Lucy, will come here and fix the dress at no cost and you can pick it up in a few weeks.

Now, remember when my wedding is in 7 weeks? And remember when it needs all kinds of other alterations that have nothing to do with the fact that this is the second damaged dress you have offered me? And remember when alterations take time, and fittings? So, no. I’m not okay with leaving here today with NO dress, and a somewhat hopeful promise of a fix.

At this point, due to who knows which part of my life, I began to just cry. My mom moves to the back of the room and sits on her hands and just looks away, for fear that if she spoke it would only get worse. So, thankfully, my sister had the good sense about her to sit forward and speak.

“Look Pam. I understand this is not your fault. You didn’t make this dress. You didn’t sew it. You didn’t order it. You didn’t even sell it. You are the messenger. But, that being said you are also the face of the company today so you are the person who, unfortunately, is being left in charge of fixing this. None of these options are really that acceptable because we aren’t leaving here with no dress, and we aren’t leaving with a damaged dress. We are going to go back outside and have a conversation, and we will let you know our decision.”

Leslie later called her tone “nice, with a hint of hateful.” So if you can imagine that, you pretty much can hear her say it.

We all went outside and talked things over and I calmed down. Mom and Leslie looked at me and said it is ultimately my decision, and what do I want.

I thought back to the day I tried on this most beautiful dress and fell in love with it, and how we all cried and it was magical. But then I decided that moment was over, and though I’m glad I had it, it isn’t what is going to define this day. No use crying over spilled milk, right? So I made the decision to give up on the “cursed dress” and move on. I couldn’t find the faith within myself to send back for a THIRD gown and hope that it all worked out magically in time for the wedding. With everything left to be done, the last thing I needed was to leave that shop empty handed and end up being a week before my wedding and not knowing if I have a wedding dress.

We go back in. Pam told us to fetch Luhtaria when we came back and she would take care of us. So Luhtaria comes in, and the rest of the day changed after that. I was now in the care of a large Amazon woman who did NOT want to be working in that shop. I looked Luhtaria straight in the eye and said,

“Okay. So this is what I’m doing. You’re going to bring me EVERY SINGLE DRESS in this store that is in my size. I will try them all on. If I find one that I fall in love with, I’m taking that exact dress with me today and we’re going to call it even. I don’t care what it costs.”

Luhtaria looked momentarily stunned, then said, “Okay!” and proceeded to show me every dress available in my size range. We took about 10 dresses into the fitting room and mom and Leslie retreated back to the couches to wait anxiously.

Now. At this point I am expecting the customer service to be off the charts excellent, perhaps even offer me a drink of water. But no. Luhtaria clearly had better places to be y’all. It. Was. Awful.

She pulls a dress off the hanger while I undress, and then she drops it on the floor, takes a step back and stares at me.

Oh. Um. I’m sorry. Should I….put it on?? Are you playing show and tell??? Is annnnybody home Luhtaria?

She then motions to me with her hand like, “Bitch get in the dress.” So I crawled my way in .And let me tell you. I have very short legs. And these dresses are made with about 290138 layers and bones and sparkles and are a labyrinth at best. So I try to climb in and almost fall, so I have to hold onto the wall. I finally get a leg in and Luhtaria, who has been watching me struggle for five minutes says, “Make sure yo toe touches the carpet. Then pull up.”

Wow. What amazing, heartfelt advice. THANK YOU!!!

I finally get in, and she whips me around to the mirror, only to inform me the dress is too tight and she yanks it back off of me. I almost fell over. I grabbed the fan and the dress rack to rescue myself and step out of the gown. And Luhtaria? She says,

“Oooooooooo, I’m hungry. Ima text my boyfriend and tell him to make me some mac n cheese tonight. MMmhhmmm, you know that’s right.”

Well. Now I know. THANK YOU!!!

We repeat this process with three more dresses before I finally get one on that I love and want to show mom and Leslie. They,too, loved it and we were all pleasantly surprised with how beautiful it was. It was actually 1 size too big, but that was better than not going on at all. We oooo’d and ahhh’d over it while Luhtaria texted her man, and then I reluctantly stepped down and went back into the fitting room of death.

“Oooooooo, you know what I want some mashed potatoes, too. And some fried chicken.”

Well hallelu, if only I had known I would have brought you just that Luhtaria. Bless your hungry Amazon heart.

I try on several more dresses, and don’t care for any of them, so I request to see the one we loved back on again.

“Ooooooo, and some buffalo sauce on that chicken. Yaaaaassss!”

Well slap me silly and call me Willie Dick. I’m so happy for you Luhtaria.

I get the beautiful dress back on and step back out. A flurry begins, because we really all did love it, and it becomes a process of trying to decide if it can be altered, and how to accessorize it. We called sweet momma Jane, and after she gasped upon hearing my second dress arrived damaged and we were now on a brand new dress #3, we walked her through what needed to be done and she promises me immediately she can do it all and it will be perfect. God love that woman, I’m going to adopt her.

Then I start trying on every veil in the store. After not finding anything acceptable, it occurs to us the original veil we chose may actually work. So Leslie takes the still-sealed package from Luhtaria and opens my veil. We try it on and boom. Perfect. I also tried on the little sheer bolero from my original dress. And boom. Perfect. So I look at the mulleted one and Luhtaria and say, “Okay. I’m taking this dress, and then I’m also taking the jacket and veil from my original dress. Thank you.”

They looked at me in slight horror, and then Pam darts off to call Stacey, and Luhtaria takes me into the fitting room to undress me ( aka, add green beans to her Sunday wishlist.) I am back in street clothes, and she informs me that “You’re getting one hell of a deal. Hope you know that.”

Really? GOOD.

I then find out the dress I have selected costs twice as much as my original dress, and the jacket and veil cost more on top of that. So it comes to a whopping total of which I cannot afford. However, that doesn’t really matter because I had no intention of paying one more dime, and informed them they were giving me this perfect dress in exchange for having ruined my first two, and the veil and jacket were to be included. Pam says,

“Okay…I may have to come live with you. Stacey may fire me after this….”

Pam and Luhtaria, I got 99 problems and y’all make up 98 of them. A bitch. Ain’t. Got. Time.

So we took my new dress, veil and jacket and left the shop. The new dress really is gorgeous, in its own way. I miss some parts of the old dress, but I mourned those things yesterday. It was a dream I had to give up on. And the new dress is gorgeous, and my accessories are my originals, so that was exciting. And I did feel beautiful in this new dress. And momma Jane will enlist the use of her fairies to make it perfect for me on the big day. So the stresses and worries have been released. Because my fairytale is happening y’all. It happens every day, seven days a week, and for that I am so grateful. You ladies have kept me lifted!!! Thank you for reading, and there will be more to come. Because you know, it’s me.

I hope you got that chicken Luhtaria. God Bless.