Dressing the Maids

Written by Jen

Blog

If my count is accurate, I've been an attendant in six weddings. My friends and family have pretty good taste because I can honestly say that I've liked every dress each bride has selected. I've even worn a few more than once (excluding the dress I wore while 7 months pregnant. Striking dress but I looked like an engorged plum).

This time I get to be "matron" of honor. Yeah, that's right. This is big. I'm not only a matron but an honorable one at that. This wedding is particularly special because my dear friend and her fiancé have waited a long time for this. We all want it to be special.

With the bride away, limited time and a bit of stress due to inevitable wedding snafus, several of us in the wedding party set out to find the perfect dress after the first choice proved impossible to locate and Internet searches fell flat.

We were confident, excited, and sure this would be a simple task. How difficult can it be to find a sophisticated knee-length cocktail dress for three beyond-thirty-something petite women?

Try it.

Want lingerie touted as "evening wear"? You can find plenty of that. Want to mimic Janet Jackson's wardrobe malfunction? Easy to arrange.  Looking for a variety of incorrectly sized mermaid-style dresses suited for the 16-year-old with an eating disorder? Got plenty. How about a tangerine-colored halter dress with multiple flowing layers of gauzy tulle? Check. Oh, and if you're seeking anything in black, particularly with fur or animal-print accents, you've got it made.

After traipsing around in the cold to multiple shops and trying on at least 30 ill-suited costumes, we ended up at the one place the bride was avoiding: the bridal store. We felt, uh, a little out of place as we skirted the flock of teeny bopper brides with dark tans and giggling entourages. On a  mission, we made our way to the photo panel of dress choices.

Enter the poor saleswoman who has ten minutes left on the clock.

"If you'll just step over here and register, we can get started," she said in a syrupy voice.

My determined companion wasn't going for it. "Listen," she stated directly. "I'm not the bride. We are bridesmaids and we've run out of time. Show us what you have."

And so it began. Again. "Well, we could order this in another size," Gretchen the saleslady said sweetly through clenched teeth (or was I imagining that?) as I tried on yet another dress that didn't quite fit.

Good. Do that.

"But we don't have that size," she responded with a smile almost immediately. Is it me, or are you people just out to get us? I thought it but didn't say it.

To be honest, we didn't spend all that much time at this last stop and we did have success. I snapped one last photo, and the bride's mother kindly placed the call to her daughter. As befitting my friend's no-nonsense demeanor, she acquiesced. She trusts us. No Bridezilla  here, that's for sure.

As we await the special day, we can only say to the most deserving bride in world: Don't worry, honey, you'll love our Hula skirts.