As a little girl I remember seeing my Mama's wedding portrait hanging in the living room and hearing bits and pieces about her wedding. I am a believer that every southern mother barely survives her wedding and in turn decides she will relive her "dream" when her daughter gets married. Well I survived my wedding. When the doctor said "It's a girl!" unlike many of my friends who started planning the wedding that day (may the circle go unbroken) I just prayed my daughters would elope. Twenty eight years later that was not to be. I did not want to relive "the dream", I just hoped to avoid a nightmare. This is the blog about my book, The Mother of Bride Should Never Wear Blue and a Proper Southern Wedding in Never at Low Tide, my story of three weddings.

Thursday, June 19, 2014

Chapter 58, No, No, Not the Blue One

A little bit of Chapter 58  "No, No, Not the Blue One!"

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Thank goodness for good friends and bridesmaids. The dress shop called me two days before I left for Edisto so I did not have enough time to pick up my dress. One of the bridesmaids was picking up my daughter's dress, which also had just had its final alterations, and volunteered to pick mine up as well.
    We were unpacking boxes of liquor, coolers of beer, Tiki torches and gallons of fuel, table cloths, and the other odds and ends we had brought for the rehearsal dinner. In all the commotion I had forgotten about my dress. My daughter reminded me that my dress was upstairs in one of the bedrooms.
    When I got a moment I went and got it out of the closet.
"You are going to try it on?" she asked.
"I guess so." I took it off of the hanger. "Damn this thing looks small."
    I slipped into it. Well let me correct that - I tried to slip into it. The dress was even smaller than 
before when I went to pick it up and the zipper ripped out. Needless to say I was not a happy camper.
    Luckily being prepared like a girl scout or the eternal pessimist, I had packed another dress just in case I needed a "back up". That was the good news.  The bad news was that I had worn the “back up” dress to the weddings of several of my daughter's bridesmaids. And of all things it was the dreaded mother of the bride blue color.
    I did not take this sitting down. I did not take it well. In fact the term my husband used later was "hissy fit". I was not happy. For four months I had worried about the details for this event and of all things I was going to show up in a frumpy blue dress that most of the guests had seen. So much for being stylish; the dress was not even comfortable.
    “Oh you better get your money back,” said a friend of mine who happened to be in the room.
My daughter added, “I’d ask for more than my 
money back. I’d make sure I got reimbursed for the dress and the alterations.”
  “No I want the shop keeper’s mobile number and home address. I am going for actual and punitive damages as well as pain and mental anguish.”