Wednesday, February 27, 2013

yes to the dress!!

Last weekend I had the pleasure of trying on bridesmaid dresses at the largest bridal clothier chain in these United States.  I'll give you a hint at the name, it rhymes with Bavid's Dridal.  Give up?  It's David's Bridal, you ass clown!

I have to ask, sorry to be sexist, universe, but what the fuck does some guy named David care about bridal gowns?  To David's credit, he created his first shop in 1945 and that was back when men didn't think women could handle much more than GIVING BIRTH TO CHILDREN.  I've never given birth to a child, but I'm pretty sure we can all admit that it looks HARD TO DO, like, I don't know, maybe one of the hardest physical things a human will do in their lifetime?  Anyway, I was in David's Bridal last weekend, trying on bridesmaid dresses for my brother's forthcoming wedding in September (which will no doubt be filled with me politely but actively rejecting the advances of one "swinging"[no really he is a swinger] groomsmen in a kilt who owns one square foot of land in Scotland--no part of this is hyperbole, but that's for another post).

Pretty sure these were my mom's bridesmaids
It was a full house, women running around everywhere.  It was a Saturday in February, wedding season is RIGHT AROUND THE CORNER.  Women sprawled out on couches in the corner of a fitting room area, exhausted. Women smiling dry-toothed, painful smiles at other women trying on beautiful bridal gowns in front of 20+ family members and strangers alike.  Girls yelling at their moms for suggesting they wear a tiara instead of a veil.  I tried on bridesmaid dresses with three other women with boobs like over-sized kick balls filled with pudding, complaining that none of these dresses can successfully house their BIG HONKIN BREASTS.

I went looking for the bathroom with no immediate luck.  I walked over to a back corner and interrupted a party of one older woman with a Pete Rose haircut, surrounded by several 20-something girls trying on bridesmaid dresses.

"Do you know if there's a bathroom back there?"  I asked, pointing to a curtain behind them.

Pete Rose stared at me, eyes wide, darting left to right in exasperation, mouth agape, "Uuuuuhhhhh, I really don't know."

This was clearly not her problem and how dare I ask her such ridiculous questions at a time like this.  That bitch was FRAZZLED.  Turns out there was NOT a bathroom behind the curtain, just boxes and bags and boxes and bags full of--shrunken heads?  Unripe bananas?  AOL disks?  I embarrassingly shuffled away from the corner of stress and doom and finally found the bathroom.

As I'm peeing I hear a loud bell being rung in the building, like a cattle bell or something you ring in a barn, I don't know, I've never lived on a farm.


And someone came on the loudspeaker for the whole building to hear, "Ladies, she said YES TO THE DRESS!!!"

There I was, hovering over a toilet, urinating and clapping for this mystery woman.

I thought, thank you David, for this moment.  This is what it's all about, David.  Buying expensive dresses, spooking frazzled women who look like Pete Rose, and not being able to pee in peace.

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