The wedding planning has been a blessed and welcomed distraction.
I should probably be embarrassed by how many hours I can spend online obsessing over every detail. But, I’m not. Nothing is too minor. The napkins, the florals, the invitations. It’s all a distracting creative outlet.
I’m breezing through my checklist with very few glitches.
I can’t seem to settle on a MOB dress. For those of you not immersed in wedding-speak, that’s the abbreviation for Mother-of-the-Bride…I’m not joining the Mafia. But if I was, I’d definitely launch a full-on quest for the perfect outfit.
It’s not my goal to “Outshine The Bride,” as people are so fond of saying. She’s a beautiful girl in her twenties – so I’d be hard-pressed to manage that. At this point I’m just trying to look like we share the same DNA.
But what I have managed to do is annoy Her Brideliness. She asked me the other day,
“Have you ever seen the movie, “27 Dresses?”
When I told her I had, she quipped,
“That character in the movie is YOU, except instead of 27 Bridesmaids dresses, you have 27 Mother-of-the-Bride dresses!”
Well at least I can rest assured we share the same DNA, as she has clearly inherited my penchant for exaggeration and embellishment. I definitely don’t have 27 dresses. But I have purchased several and I’m still on the hunt.
I guess, as I get older, I realize that one doesn’t have as many opportunities as one might imagine to wear an evening gown. This is my last daughter and who knows how many Galas I’ll be invited to moving forward.
Perhaps it’s a little bothersome to Gracie that I continue to inundate her with screenshots of dresses I’m finding online. I’m just after her opinion, not judgement.
Yes of course I am aware that she just started her new job this week and is fully immersed in their training program. But surely she gets a few short potty breaks and can check her phone?
She doesn’t even have to type out a text response. Just heart ❤️ the images of gowns she favors.
She must’ve gotten a lunch break yesterday, because around mid-day, she shot me these hurtful little bubbles:
Ouch…was I just Slit-shamed?
I’m apparently dancing all over her last nerve. Burlesque? Seriously? I’m not trying to look “burlesquey,” but if I was…what better place than a French Quarter wedding to dabble in that lost art?
I remember shopping with my mother for her Grandmother-of-the-Bride gown before my oldest daughter’s wedding. Doris spent more on her entire ensemble than we spent on Emilie’s. I happened to make mention of that fact as she was handing her credit card over to the clerk at Neimans. Without batting an eye, she looked over at me and said,
“Then bury me in it!”
Sadly, 2 short years later, I did just that.
But, my mom didn’t really have the advantage of shopping from her bathtub. She was way too nervous to give out her credit card information online.
I don’t have that problem. Ask Amazon, Etsy, PayPal et al. They’ll vouch for how fearless I am.
That’s why I’m not ready to commit to being buried in whatever dress I eventually select for this event. I can obviously lie right here until I take my last breath and choose something even more suitable and au courant.
And with all the advantages of overnight shipping, I’m sure anything I pick out will arrive in time for when I finally make my way to the Pearly Gates.
Hmmm…something pearl-encrusted in white or cream to go with the whole “Pearly Gates vibe?”
Unless I’m not destined for heaven…if I end up headed the other direction I’ll be requiring one of y’all to overnight the red one with the slit.
Don’t worry – I’ll send you a screenshot and the link.