Shopping with Culotte

On Saturday I am going to attend my first wedding as a married woman. Unfortunately, this is my first ocassion to buy a dress in over a year. My first thought was "Whee! I get to buy a dress!" About two weeks ago, I thought "Oopsies, I need to buy a dress soon." And then today, about FIVE days before the wedding, I think, "FUCK. I need a fucking dress. Like nowish." And the dress needs to be perfect, because any tailor would laugh in my face if I brought them a dress 5 days before I needed to wear it. LAUGH IN MY FACE.

So I went to the mall. And this is what happened.

5:25pm: Get off the phone with N. He encourages me to take my time, don't worry about dinner, etc. Grateful, I skip gleefully into Macy's. Bring it on, Macy's. I SO OWN YOU. I am about to fabrimatically bitchslap you. Dressicate all up in this place.

5:40pm: I get into my pattern. My mode. My mojo. See pretty dress. Find size. Throw over shoulder. Repeat.

5:50pm: I stumble into the dressing room. Shove 15 dresses onto a teeny tiny hook.

5:52pm: Rip off old stupid work clothing. Touching. New. Clothes. Old clothes suck.

6:01pm: Think to self, Mmmkay. So you're not the size you thought. Hmm. Also think, Apparently mesh isn't for everyone. That's okay.

6:19pm: Dejectedly put stupid old clothing back on. Return to the floor.

6:21pm: Now we are CAREFULLY inspecting dresses. Looking for an empire waist with an A-line skirt and a thicker strap.

6:27pm: Bring 3 new dresses into dressing room. Experience small tremors through out body. Realize that these are what people call "glimmers of hope."

6:35pm: Dejectedly put stupid old clothing back on. Leave Macy's.

6:40pm: Enter small boutique-ish type store on a different level. Grab 5 dresses. Pointedly ignore the slutty strapless dresses.

6:47pm: Stupid dresses. Spot a navy blue dress with small red and white flowers and red trim. Ugh. Strapless

6:48pm: Look at mannequin. Model wear cardigan with strapless. Oooooh. Ugh ugh! Brain starts churning excitedly. Must. Try. On.

6:53pm: SUCCESS! Victory is mine, bitches!

6:55pm: Cha-ching! $64. This, my friends, is what the French call a motherfucking steal.

7:00pm: Car ride home. Frantically start calling friends to see if anyone has a white cardigan I can borrow, as I am too cheap to buy my own. Shit. I need shoes, too.

7:34pm: Arrive at home. Race into bedroom to try new dress on for husband with appropriate vaccuum-powered (read: they suck you in) undergarments.

7:37pm: Stand in front of mirror. Something is wrong here. A-line? Check. Empire? Check. Red Bow? Check. Pigtails? Nay. Cowboy boots? Nope.

7:38pm: N: "You look like a handkerchief." Shit. He's right.

7:46pm: Cuddle in bed with N & Rufus. Decide to return the dress and buy a skirt and top instead, and make sure that those fuckers match shoes/sweaters I already own. Because dude, this is tiring.