If It's too Big, We can Work with It

Thanks to the savvy wits of my campaign manager Mitty and her highly effective “knock and drag” strategy (knock on the door and then drag them to the polls), voters turned out in record numbers at the polls last fall and I was indeed elected the “Best Person” for the Cadovona-Vallo wedding 07.

That is, my brother and I went dress shopping last weekend. Here are/were my thoughts on this experience...

A short, petite attractive Asian woman assured me she was excited and going to be joining me in the dressing room...

Not an altogether unpleasant offer I suppose but not what I wanted to hear.

We entered a room with a little podium in the center, the place where young girls dream of playing Cinderella or smiling stiffly like the topper on a wedding cake.

Camile told me I would be trying on 4 tops that are too big, three skirts that we would make fit…with "clipping" and then she would measure me. This is how they do it.

Having racks full of items designed to not fit people seemed bad business. Camile was also the proprietor of the store so I thought it best not to share.

In the room next door there was “bustling” I bristled as they “bustled” pulling this word out like the good bubbly in the wine cellar…they’d found the perfect occasion and they knew how to use it…

"Well you’ll have to just remember to bustle up the skirt when doing steps!"

"But is it too long?"

"Oh no, I don’t mind bustling."

"You’re going to have to practice your bustling!" (tee hee tee hee)

All agreed. There was a whole team who offered to help the "bride to be" practice bustling. I could only imagine some strange new class offering at the local gym “Bustlecamp.”

"Okay ladies now on my count, hike it up! or do the bustle and straighten.

Come on Amber keep up! "

The dressing room had plush white carpet, 2 full length mirrors, and an alarming glass full of wooden clothes pins.

With some panic and relief my eyes darted around the room looking for Tupperware or drawers filled with a hodgepodge of items to memorize. Thankfully there were none. Only two plush sofa chairs and a little table tidily kept with fake flowers and a tape measure.

I peered through the shudder partition feeling a little naughty, still curious about the bustling…

I’ve been dressed by people before. I could appreciate their sense of accomplishment and doting on instructions…I could not understand all the tittering and on-going excitement.

In short, I had visual confirmation these people were weird. Feeling a bit like a martian who just stepped off the spaceship (nanoo nanoo!) I teetered back to the podium.

Camile my helper arrived wearing high heels, her brown leather mini and stylish white cotton shirt…


She held four tops each a variation on a theme and the three skirts. (kind of sounds like a MoTown group doesn't it? Please welcome the Four Tops and the skirts!)

Okay here’s a potentially funny question…Camile said, "now you just tell me what you want me to do…” Based on earlier discussion the implication here was “because you have a disability and your balance is bad…”

I want you to get down on all fours so I can sit on you like a pony!

Anyway, pretty soon I was

Cinched into top 1…How does this feel? Camile asked.

Like I wanna buck like a bronco. Somehow the top bulged, folded and dipped leaving vast cavernous space in the chest. The thin sash she'd tied tightly around my ribs left me feeling breathless and afraid to move.

The skirt fit nice and loose.

The wooden clothespins? here's what they're for...they use them to secure a proper fit. they "clip you in" from behind (not cut your knees out from behind...)

I’ll go get your brother. Camile said. This was good because I was in fact not going to come out of the dressing room.

Serious, studious, worried, concerned all describe my brother. the tension immediately eased in his face. Then there was laughing…it was not the startling change in style…but the change in chest size

the gapping...

I felt a bit like an amusement park character Goofy or Mickey floating around inside my padded suit

what do you think? he asked with a tinge of hope in his voice.

there really are some thoughts its best not to share. I grasped at my thoughts but could find none of them. I desperately wanted to explain the 5 min. rule. I desperately wanted to know—would it still apply?

The five minute rule a recommended good parenting tool for all parents of little tomboys…the child wears the dress or nice outfit to the event or occasion and then once the five minute minimum is reached (once you get to grandma’s or wherever it is feared parenting skills will be judged) THEN allow them to change into sweats and go play football.

As an adult I say why can’t there be a 5min. rule for weddings? I mean really once they start the dancin who cares? There should be an announcement…after they cut the cake, say the toasts…ANYONE WHO WOULD LIKE TO CHANGE INTO MORE COMFORTABLE CLOTHES PLEASE DO SO…IN 15MIN. WE’RE GONNA START THE DANCIN!

Anyway,

Top 2 was a variation of top 1. I liked it subtle, unassuming…

(Bunching and gapping) It was a “tankish” satin, shell that required zipping in the back.

When Camile helped me into my tops, I stood making the small talk one makes when observably uncomfortable…

Sure is windy outside!

Is this a busy season for you?

I like your skirt…

But did I really like her skirt? It was made of brown leather. What was once perhaps a doe-eyed Bessie or Bernald (whatever name a steer) was now like an oversized belt probably purchased with too much Indian wampum.

I vowed I would stop doing this in the dress shop--throwing around mindless compliments. It’s bad karma…they’ll come right back at ya.

Yes I’d rather hear “you have a cute little figure…” not wow you are round like a bowling ball and should really suck it in

But I noticed

I was feeling pretty good about my “cute little figure” my “petite lines” until the bustler next to me…”had the perfect shape for her dress” and lady after that “had great arms and perfect back for a strapless” hey!

I tried on tops #3 and #4. With very little laughing and debate #3 was declared the winner. Then there was no laughing and an air of absolute seriousness…when Camile announced, engaging me in deep penetrating soulful eyes. I will go get the tape. We’ll measure you and see where you fit.

Funny how quickly a sane person can come undone…as irrational as it may sound I found myself wanting to explain these things:

1. the very natural phenomena I just ate.
2. her findings would be unreliable, her chart is based on women sucking it in everywhere
3. standing still is okay but when I move it's all gonna shift outta whack

I absolved myself of any potential bodily pooches and abnormalities…I decided I fit perfectly somewhere in a size chart, I “took refuge” in the Dharma teachings on delusion

(and I almost ran out of the room yellin yippie I’m a 2/4).

So, I have my new dress we ordered it in a 20 (no, really, the correct size). My rationale? Too small? I’ve just become a crisis…your fat ass sister who’s ruining the wedding. I learned if you get smaller…they can always take it in…bigger?

"Bigger?" Camile’s eyes fairly popped out of their sockets.

"Yes, what if I’d like to get a little bigger."

"Do you have plans to get bigger?"

I wasn’t sure why my question was so funny.

"I mean I might get bigger," I faltered.

She asked with worried anticipation and the pained confusion of raised eyebrows and concerned eyes…how big do you plan to get?

"Well no, nobody plans to get that big."

Help! help! I felt like making loud stated proclamations from atop the dressing podium. Something sacred and official. Something embraced by all girls, all women everywhere.

So my young friends, remember this a sucked in 2 is really a comfortable 4.

And always, always remember this...

If it’s too big? If you're too big? We can work with it.