Yesterday was not a good day. If you are a new MOB -warning - do not read further, you will find the contents quite disturbing.
The dress shop called and they had my dress ready. I was thrilled in that it was one major thing I wanted off my list. Yesterday, I was in Charleston on another matter, so I ran by the shop to try it on. It was tight - very tight. The young lady assured me not to worry that duponi silk stretches. Then there was an issue zipping the dress up - mainly she could not zip it because it was so tight. In trying, the zipper ripped and had to be cut to remove me from the dress. To keep panic from setting in, quietly to myself, I repeated my mantra, "Drugs and Therapy, Drugs and Therapy."
When I emerged from the dressing room, she told me not to worry. (I don't know why she would think that may be case, I only needed the dress in 6 days.) She was going to call the designer and get her to come get it and see what she could do before it went back to the seamstress. Designer? I had no idea the dress came from a designer. I learned that yes, it did, and she lived in Charleston. Who knew?
As I left the shop sans dress and made my way through the throngs of clueless tourists to my car on Church Street, I took a deep breath. I knew my next chore would certainly cheer me up. After all what woman is not cheered and excited about shopping for shoes. So off I went in search of the elusive wedding shoes.
And, elusive they were. After searching everywhere, they were no where to be found. How hard is it to come upon a pair of size 8 dress shoes with a medium heel in gold or light bronze that are not gaudy, do not glow or sparkle, are not frumpy, are not cheap, do not look like they belong in a bordello, and come in under $250. The answer - very hard. So I headed home without a dress or shoes.
And, while I was on my quest for shoes my florist called, "Dear, I know you are busy, but I need to confirm that the caterer wants the serving tables in a cross so I can plan that one large arrangement." So I called the caterer. She said, no, she would prefer two 12 foot tables to serve on. I made sure she said "12" because that changed the table order from four 8 foot tables to four 6 foot tables (and the linens as well.) I called the florist and told him of the change. Now we needed two arrangements.
Note to self: Call tent company to change size of the tables, Call future son-in-law to rearrange the reception configuration to accommodate two 12 foot long tables instead of four 8 foot tables crossed, and Figure out the *&^ %^&& linens.
When I walked in the house, the first thing I saw were the boxes of linens I had ordered. Great, something was going right. I no longer had to worry about a delay in the table cloths. I opened the box only to see the green runners in a color not exactly what they were supposed to be. So off to the florist I went, runner in hand.
There is a reason we use this florist, he took the runner, and after some discussion, showed me how it was going to look with the flowers. And, he said, "You know, if it doesn't look right, we just will not use them. Don't you worry." I left his shop feeling much better.
But, as I drove off I remembered, those were the parting words of the girl in the dress shop.