Who slapped that cheeseburger on my ass?
May 2, 2007 | General
Studs oldest daughter is getting married June 2 and everyone is getting into wedding mode. About two weeks back the time had come for his tuxedo fitting and my search for a dress. We don’t like to jump into things and usually wait to the last minute if you haven’t guessed.
Off we went to the bridal shop/tuxedo store and the ruination of my life.
While Studs is standing spread-eagle and a dozen young hands slide across his body, I wander over to the racks of gowns in every conceivable color you could imagine. Dress upon dress and rack after rack, no matter what the size (trust me, I am not fessing up here to my number) they all looked like I should have a lily in one hand and the other on a casket lid, ready to slam it shut.
Finally, I found one under $600.00 (gasp), a pale aqua with the least amount of plastic rhinestones and requested a dressing room.
The room the perky clerk escorted me to had a dozen mirrors and a platform. I figured it had to be the one for the bridal dress fittings. She left with a promise to return and I stripped down to my usual Saturday housecleaning undies. And the real trauma began.
No matter where I looked, cellulite bulged and dared me to fit my big butt into the only dress in the entire shop that might not make me look like a corpse. The entire episode was horrible. After much sucking in and wiggling, I handed the dress to the clerk then we left with me in a mood to chew nails.
On the drive home I decided no more soft drinks, beer, wine, vodka, breads, or anything above a calorie count of two would pass my lips. Studs was very sympathetic and had enough sense not to ask what happened. The man has a true survivor instinct. I had also vowed to finally exercise before my ass took over our entire town and ran for mayor. Again, Studs reacted like a champ and didn’t utter one word. In fact, he kept his eyes glued to the road. Now you know why I love this guy. He’s got brains.
I was good. I swear I was. For almost four days. I exercised, which I hate, and gave up all the good things in life, except Studs. I behaved with determination until one day when my writing and the telephone had driven me insane. And the whole damned program fell like Rome. I have no self-control and admit it.
Now it’s four weeks until the wedding and I am dressless with a stomach big enough that it should start paying taxes in the next county. CRAP! And I dread my next excursion into the land of clothes shops.
Do you think anyone would notice if I wore a paper sack?