"Good God, no," I said. Looking into the mirror, it was like my living room with the bad plaid was done in good taste. This was a dress that no one could make over with any degree of success. It was beyond my worst nightmares; it was neon yellow and puce. What happened to lavender or pastels? what happened to tasteful cocktail dresses? What happened to the tie dyed underwear that I knew Marcella actually favored?
Overboard. the lot of it. This was the fifteenth dress to grace the dressing room. Only because I have respect for the retail workers of America and have been one myself, I didn't throw any of the cast offs to the floor. Each dress was worse than the last. The first in pale pink made me look like either a fat moth trying to be a butterfly, a ballerina who ate all the inhabitants of Swan Lake, or a blank who was blank.
The series of dresses that made me look like the Michelin Man in drag was even worse. The creme and purple number that made me look like a Danish made me want to cry.
Is this what friends are for? Dressing up in hideous clothing to ensure that the bride gets everyone's eye? I mean, I understand it is the bride's day and all of that, but this took being a good sport to a new level. At least she passed on the dress that had yellow and black circles circles that resembled a dart board; the one with the yellow and blue rugby stripes wouldn't have been so bad except for the billowing skirt. Yes it was that bad, but we'd just reached a new low, even for Marcella.
My ideas and perceptions had gone out the window when I went with Marcella to Fairy Godmother's Bridal Re-Designs. It was where bad formal wear went to die. No longer fit in the taffeta nightmare from high school? Diane will by it, alter it somehow and resell it to some other schmo. It is the only bridal shop in town that specialized in once loved and gently used bridal wear; I don't know many women who wear the same wedding dress more than once, but it might happen. And as for bridesmaid's dresses, that was a definite, I'll never wear it again, for the rest of my life and I'll burn any and all pictures that have me in them. Thank you very much.
I pulled the curtain back slowly and stuck my head out to see if the coast was clear.
"Pst. Marcella." So it wasn't as much of a whisper as it was a hiss, but she came farily quickly.
"Come out and let me have a good look at you," she said.
She looked so happy I hated to leave the coccoon of the dressing area. I didn't want to be exposed to any more lights than necessary or any more witnesses. her face fell just a little as I stepped onto the showroom floor. "It's not really you, is it?"
No. Not even close. Not even a drag queen with stratetic lighting, fabulous makeup, and stage presence could pull this thing off. It was scary on the hanger and worse hanging on me. It clung where I didn't want it to (the newly acquired rolls of chub around my middle) and it hung the places I wanted it to cling (my bust line isn't the best but it made even me look fat).
"How about a nice pants suit," the clerk asked. "We have one that just came in, it's burgundy. It would be terrific."
"I don't know, maybe we could gussy it up with something. Velvet?" she asked.
"Why don't we go for something else?" The clerk indicated another rack with things that were a bit more subdued, they didn't glow in the dark. "This would be lovely with your skin," the clerk said. "Royal blue looks good on virtually everyone."
It was my best color and my favorite. It was out of some kind of a micro fiber that I'm sure would hug and cling in all of the wrong places, but at least I wouldn't look like I escaped from a bad 80s hair video.
Marcella moved four dresses to the side and found a red dress with a ruched bodice. It might have looked nice, except for the bow that would advertise to all the world how large my back end had become. "No. Too simple."
"What was XXX going to wear," I asked. If it had been sauce for the goose once, it might as well be sauce for me, too. Provided they had it.
"Oh. You know about that," she said. "I didn't want you to think I didn't want you."
Except that she didn't.
"Except that I didn't." She smiled and selected a hot pink number that even Cindy Lauper wouldn't have worn. "I know how you feel about weddings and I didn't want to make you uncomfortable."
I didn't even have to ask how many others she'd asked. "Six. Before you. And I think you should be lucky number seven."
I went back to the dressing room and slithered out of the neon green nightmare. I put my jeans back on and my t-shirt that said, "Be Naughty, Save Santa The Trip." I found my hairbrush in the bottom of my purse. Have you ever noticed that the things you want and need most always sink to the bottom of the bag no matter how small the bag is? I brushed it out and gathered my hair back into a ponytail. It needed to be French braided again, but it takes me too long to do when someone is waiting for me. I slipped my sneakers on and headed back out.
"I'm done for the day, Marcella. I really don't think I'm the person who should be standing up for you. Grandma just told me that I need to help cater this shindig and I'd be much more comfortable doing that. I hope you understand."
"Who else am I going to get?" she asked.
"Why don't you ask the other contestants why they turned you down and you might have an idea of what to do."
"Wait, you're going to cook?"
"Right now I don't know. Maybe I can help or find you an affordable caterer. Have you guys thought about looking at a cooking school for a kid who wants a weekend side job?" More to the point, had they settled on a menu and set a realistic budget? "How many people, Marcella?"
"I think we've got it down to three hundred."
If I'd been drinking, something would have come out of my nose. "Does he know that?" I asked.
"Sure, honey, he knows. He said I can have whatever I want and invite as many people as I want," she said. "I'm down from a thousand."
I knew she didn't mean that may. surely not. and not that my dad was going to be stingy, but how many people are that close to three hundred others? This took the six degrees of Kevin Bacon to a new level.
She held up a finger and said, "Relatives and relatives of relatives." She tapped her chin with her index finger and said, "And my ex-husbands and their new families."
I wasn't about to tell her to resolve the budget. I was going to call Dad's accountant and find out if he could write off the wedding as a business expense, a kind of party for his employees as well as his clients.
"Like I said, find out why the others turned you down and we'll talk." I started to walk backwards out the door when I walked into a wall. Not so much of a wall, but a large, warm form. I turned around and and saw Daniel. Crap. He's never seen me at my best. He always looks like he's on top of his game, even when he was sweaty. Me? I have looked like something Louie played with, swallowed, and hacked back up.
~~~
tbc
word count 1356
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