wedding gowns need a safety buddy

I never thought I would end up blogging about my wedding. It seems so...domestic. And dull. All the stuff leading up to the wedding, yes. The immigration headaches, my first experiences in a new country, getting to know my new British family, yes to all of that. But the wedding itself? Hadn't planned on it. Talking to you people about my flower choices and the angst involved in finding an affordable photographer (turns out that is a complete impossibility, by the way), or finally discovering the perfect tiara to match my mom's necklace that came with me from Canada...does any of that even remotely interest you? No. Didn't think so. Anyone who would be interested is off reading some lacy, flowery wedding blog and getting dewy-eyed over this girl's four-carat engagement ring, and that girl's ten thousand dollar (pound?) floral arrangements.

But then my wedding gown arrived.

Sigh.

And suddenly I have lost any control of myself I once had and feel the need to tell you people all about the experience. My apologies. Just go with it. My wedding is in eleven days, and after that I am sure I will get back to my non-girly self. The one who doesn't care if her tiara matches her earrings. Any tiara will do!

So. The gown. A few posts back I chronicled my accidental finding of the wedding gown of my dreams, which I truly thought would be my one and only foray into the wonderful world of the wedding blogger. Well, that gown finally arrived from Canada and I pulled it out of the box, breathless with excitement. It looked as gorgeous as I remembered...which was about all I could remember of it, frankly, beyond a vague idea that the straps went like this and the skirt went sort of like that. With some sparkly things. Mmhmm. I was more than a little relieved to find it actually did have more detail to it than that. I inspected it closely to find the alterations beautifully done, the laces up the back looking perfectly corset-like. My dream dress was actually here and in my hands. I think I may have been trembling.

A quick glance up at the clock showed that I still had hours yet before My Guy would be home from work. So of course I immediately had to try it on. It is impossible to let a brand new wedding gown, freshly un-crumpled from its box all the way from Winnipeg, just sit there and not try it on. I defy any woman out there to be able to resist that temptation.

I stripped down in the middle of the lounge - there was no way there would be room for all that gown in the bedroom - and then contemplated the gown for a moment as it draped across the sofa, beckoning to me silently. This called for a game plan. First, I loosened up the ribbon out of the oh-so-carefully laced corset back. There was no way I was fitting in there with the lacings pulled tight. I suppressed a moment of doubt that had me wondering if I would fit into it even without the lacings pulled tight. Or with no lacings at all. I didn't remember it being that tiny...and then there had been all of the new taste sensations England had had to offer over the past three months. I said a silent prayer and vowed not to have another steak slice or iced bun until after the wedding.

Then came the next big decision. Step in, or up and over? I held the top of the dress open, looking down into it. Surely my butt couldn't possibly get in through that tiny opening...? Well, maybe it would. Give it a try. It was certainly the easiest option. So I delicately stepped into the meringue poof of skirt pooled on the floor. Grasped the top of the dress and slid it carefully upwards. Right up to my thighs.

Yeah. I was right the first time.

So, I lowered the skirt back down to the floor and had a good think. I stood again in my underpants, tapping my chin with a finger.

If I just....no, probably not.

Well, maybe if I....

...oh, please, you can't be serious.

There was nothing for it. I laid the gown over the back of the sofa and just sort of...wormed my way in. I burrowed upwards through the netting and lace until I reached open air again. I got my arms through the holes and wriggled myself up into the bodice. And suddenly I was in. The dress was on. I looked at myself in the wall mirror, flushed with the effort and the excitement. I wanted desperately to see how it would look all laced up, and made some interesting contortions trying to pull on the ends of the laces, without making much headway. Eight shoulder surgeries had pretty much taken away any possibility of me actually being able to reach my own back. It hasn't been washed since I was fourteen.

Undaunted, I pulled the sides of the bodice tight to me with my hands and just imagined how it would look once I was all cinched in on my wedding day. After looking at myself from every angle I decided it might be time to get out of the gown again. I was now more than flushed from my exertions. It turns out nineteen layers of netting and lace is really pretty warm. I was suddenly really glad that most days entering our church is like walking into a meat locker, where you can see your breath and icicles hang from your nose by the end of the service. I figure the dress and the stone church will sort of cancel each other out and I will be at perfect room temperature.

At any rate, not wanting to get my gown all sweaty before the big day, I decided to take it off.

This is the point where I got stuck in my wedding gown for an hour. Getting back out of it again involved the sort of physical maneuvers any circus contortionist would have been proud of. And corn starch. Lots of corn starch.

Don't ask.

Who knew that getting out of a wedding gown would be so much harder than getting in? After thinking it over, though, I realized you just sort of have to climb up into the gown to get it on. Whereas you have to actually be able to get all that gown up and over your head to get it back off again.

After trying and failing to get the gown over my head, I bent and twisted and pulled until I had removed all the lacing from up the back. There! No problem! It'll come off easily now!

Sigh.

Or not.

I bravely tried once again to will my butt to fit through the tiny opening and just sort of shove downward. It was not a pretty sight. Sort of like watching a frilly jellyfish try to birth a manatee.

Up and over it would have to be once again.

I writhed.

I wriggled.

I twisted.

I got myself into positions the human body was never designed for.

I went for the corn starch...

Just as I was on the point of admitting defeat, swallowing my humiliation and calling my future mother-in-law to come and rescue me from my wedding gown, I finally managed to worm one arm out of the hole. A few minutes later the rest of me followed. Oh, the joy! The blessed blessed relief! I was hot, I was sweaty, I was panting with the effort. I was covered in corn starch residue. I looked like I had been in a struggle to the death in a baker's and only just barely come out the victor.

Still, I was grinning like an idiot, my beautiful gown in a heap on the floor. And it was mine, all mine.

As a silver lining, I have discovered I can make use of my wedding gown later as a winter parka, should the need arise. That little gold nugget of information was well worth getting stuck in my gown for an hour. And using up half a box of corn starch.

And this ordeal has made me realize one of the most wonderful things about getting married. The next time I need to get out of that gown? I'll have help. :o)

...all dressed in white

Or ivory. Whatever. Don't be picky!

I promised you people the tale of my wedding gown. And, since I never break a promise (although I may procrastinate a week or two before I get around to it), here it is for you.

A couple of weekends ago I went wedding dress shopping with Big Sis. Now, the more clever of you will already have picked up on something. But, TeDiouS, you are likely thinking, you are still in Canada. Your wedding is in England. How will you get your dress to England? In one piece? Without it costing a fortune?

Gah! Stop pestering me! I'll worry about that later. (And trust me, I will!)

Big Sis and I started out that Saturday bright and early, intending to accomplish two things: selling my book collection at the used book store, and trying on wedding gowns for hours. After dropping off her dogs at their grooming appointment. So okay, three things. Leave me alone, it was early!

We dutifully got the dogs to the groomer, still rubbing sleep from our eyes, when we both had a sudden realization. It was before nine on a Saturday morning. In what world did we expect to find either the bookstore or the bridal salons open at this hour? So, our intended quick bite on the way to the shops turned into an agonizing hour at Tim Hortons lingering over a pumpkin muffin (which I highly recommend you try next year when they roll them out again for thanksgiving. Kind of like pumpkin pie in breakfast form. How is that not a good thing?) Have you ever sat in a Tim Hortons for that long? They don't exactly build the place for comfort. Plus they have those signs looming over you on the walls. The ever-so-polite ones in adamant red that say "We enjoy your company, however NO LOITERING. 20 minutes only, please". Ack! Whenever I am there longer than twenty minutes I start to feel all Catholic about it, and the guilt is overwhelming. I am sure every employee is staring at me, shaking their heads in disappointment. I mean, they said please and everything...

We finally made it out of the Tim Hortons without anyone calling the cops on us, or getting a ticket, or whatever they do when you overstay your welcome at Timmie's. Since the bookstore didn't open until eleven, which we cleverly figured out by phoning information, (which we could have even more cleverly done the night before) we decided that dress shopping first would be the better plan.

Big Sis parked under Portage Place in downtown Winnipeg. She had a couple of things she wanted to pick up in the mall and at The Bay, and then we would wander out onto Portage Avenue. Which is basically one long row of bridal shops. Storefront after storefront of mannequins all dressed for the happiest day of their lives. I get a warm fuzzy feeling just thinking about it. *sighs dreamily*

And I didn't get to set foot in a damned one of them! More on that later.

While we were in The Bay, Big Sis decided we may as well visit their bridal shop and look at dresses there before risking life and hairdo in the winds of Portage Avenue. The saleslady was busy fitting another bride so we poked around the dresses ourselves for a bit, picking out two I might actually be able to afford. Turns out I do not look all that attractive in an affordable wedding gown. The first one I tried on looked very dignified and classy for a bride of my age. In the worst sort of way. It was the sort of dress that said yes, I have waited until my mid-thirties to get married for the first time...why am I even bothering? Until I tried it on. And then I nearly choked on my tongue. There was no way I could be seen in a church in that dress! I would spontaneously combust the second I walked in. In order to give you people the proper mental picture, let me just say that it was the first and only time I have ever used the word boobalicious in a sentence. Now, I am not a small-chested girl, sitting snugly in an E-cup. This dress took that and ran with it...even I couldn't stop staring at my cleavage. It was mesmerizing. But not exactly where I wanted everyone's stare to be focussed on my wedding day. In a church.

So off with that one, and onto the next. Once we stopped laughing. It was a proper wedding gown, this one, with a halter neck and an A-line skirt, all in satin, not a lot of blingy embellishment. That one didn't stay on long. It did bad things for my shoulders, emphasizing the imbalance in them and pretty much framing all those scars. And the rest of the dress wasn't flattering in any particular way either. It didn't even have the hilarity factor of the previous one. So off it went too.

At this point I decided to just try on anything I really liked, rather than sticking with things I might actually be able to afford. The point of this day, after all, was not to actually buy a dress. I had merely wanted the experience of trying on dresses with my sisters (Lil Sis phoned me back too late, or she would have been there too). Seeing what looked good on me, trying on anything I wanted, just being a Barbie doll for the day and getting to put on all sorts of princessy dresses. And then I would buy something sensible and affordable when I got to England.

But then I tried on the third dress. It was one I had seen hanging outside another dressing room, and just loved how it looked draped over that hook and spilling across the floor. It looked the way a wedding dress should look, at least in my imaginings. The second Big Sis helped me tug and struggle and trip my way into it, I knew I was in love. I immediately wanted to head out to the big mirror, step up on that block that makes you look like your legs are six feet long, and get a look at every angle of myself. I loved everything I saw.

The seamstress came along and between her and my sis they managed to get me zipped into the thing. I gazed speechless on my reflection, light-headed and hardly able to breathe. Which may have had something to do with the dress reducing my lung capacity to that of a gnat, but mostly I think it was awe. I felt....bridal. My first thought was how much I wanted My Guy to see me in this dress on our wedding day. It was my dress.

Other brides in the shop were complimenting me on the dress. They would look at me and smile, nod, knowing I had found the one. Either because they had already experienced that moment themselves, or were still waiting for it. I felt...beautiful.

And thin!

Only one problem. And a big one. I couldn't afford it. Not by a long shot. And I told the saleslady so. She looked at the tag, looked at me glowing in that dress, and told me that if I was willing to take the one I was trying on, it was a 2009 sample they were trying to get rid of to make room for the 2010s (when did wedding dress shopping turn into car shopping?), and she could offer it to me at half price. My heart missed a beat or two. I had no plans to buy a dress! How would I get it home to me in England? How much would it cost to get it shipped there? How would I get it looking like a wedding gown again after it had been squashed in a box and traveled for thousands of miles?

Who cares?! This was my dress, and I could no longer think of getting married in anything else. So, one frantic phone call to England to talk it over with My Guy, and one promise from Big Sis to pay for half of the dress (even at half price, it was still well over my budget) as well as handling getting it shipped out to me once the alterations were done, and suddenly I had my wedding gown. After trying on three dresses. In the first bridal shop I had set foot in.

Fortunately, the alterations needed were all simple and straight-forward and nothing that requires a second fitting in any desperate way. The hem needs taking up and the straps need taking down. And they are adding a laced back and taking out the zipper, which will take care of the whole problem of actually being able to breathe on my wedding day. And that's it. Everything else fits like it was made for me. It is a total princess dress, with a full skirt and a train, tulle over top of satin, with lace edging and appliqué, some beading. It is exactly what I want My Guy to see me in the day I finally marry him.

When I got home later and was telling My Guy about the dress, I had him guess from which store I had bought it. And he did, instantly. Because the one bridal shop I had ever been to before was with him. We were in Portage Place after we got engaged and ended up at The Bay, wandering through their bridal department. Hating and laughing at every single dress we saw. They were hideous, every last one of them! The saleslady gave us a magazine full of their gown options, and we looked over it later, making fun of the dresses that looked like the poor model was dragging a down duvet behind her, or the ones that looked like a silk florist's had exploded. There was not a single wearable gown in the bunch. But, oh what a difference a season makes in fashion!

I have my dream wedding gown, beyond all expectation or hope. And now is when the worry sets in. Will it get shipped to me in time? Will it survive the trip? Will I be able to find someone on the other end who can make it look as beautiful as it should once it has been crammed into a box and traveled across the ocean?

I find at this point, on the verge of leaving for England in five days, that I have new worries popping up all the time, many of them centering on the wedding. And I have people telling me how much stress is involved in weddings, especially since we will have to arrange ours so quickly once I get there. I have to say, so far there has been no real stress involved. The wedding itself was arranged in an afternoon by My Guy, the dress-buying was accomplished in one shop, having tried on three gowns. This has been a piece of cake!

You just know I am dooming myself to wedding-planning hell now, don't you?

So, all you married people out there, how did you handle the wedding stress? Was there any? What is the worst thing that went wrong on your wedding day? Or did everything go perfectly smoothly? I need to know, people!

But I have my dress. And I can't wait for him to see me in it. :o)