Read Online How I Planned Your Wedding by Susan Wiggs - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Susan Wiggs
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a costume.
If you find your dream gown and it’s in your price range, more power to you. I wasn’t so lucky. But that dress set the bar. As I happily flounced out of the snobby store, taking with me any commission Brigitte could have hoped to earn, I had to thank her for one thing: she gave me exactly what I was looking for—a vision quest. I had been within reach of The Dress, and all that remained was for me to findsomething equally gorgeous with a price tag that wouldn’t require me to sell a kidney. From then on, my dress shopping would be efficient and focused. I would only consider ball gowns, and only those under a thousand bucks.
Everything happens for a reason, my mom says. Looking back, I can see now that without the encounter with Brigitte, I never would have ended up at the next shop.
Later that afternoon, my mom, Molly and I went to lunch in the quaint neighborhood of Wallingford in Seattle. Molly spent a good part of the lunch convincing me to eat more than a piece of lettuce, reminding me that I was not actually a candidate for world’s largest woman and that I was definitely not allowed to let Brigitte and her skeletal aesthetic make me feel bad about myself. My mom simply said in her most matter-of-fact voice, “You can’t trust a girl who weighs less than the purse she carries.”
As we walked out of the café, I glanced across the street. Nestled along a rosy pink wall, four shop windows displayed mannequins in long, white gowns. Above the door to the small shop, a humble black awning read, I Do Bridal.
I’ll be honest with you. I always pictured finding my gown in a place that oozed upscale elegance. My dressing room attendant would serve my mom and bridesmaids teacakes and champagne as I tried on dress after beautiful dress, emerging from behind a billowy silk curtain to stand on a dais in front of the women in my life as they lounged on a pillow-soft couch. Even after my experience with The Harpy Formerly Known as Brigitte, I figured I’d find another store with a similar atmosphere—and more reasonable prices.
I Do Bridal looked a little…homemade, compared to my fantasy.
This is where it came in handy to have an insanely practical mother and a down-to-earth bridesmaid with me.
“Wiggs, why don’t we try that shop?” Molly asked. She knew a thing or two about finding wedding dresses in unlikely places. Her own wedding was a mere two months away, and she would be wearing anincredible raw silk A-line gown she’d found in an eastern Washington quinceañera shop that sported a window display of neon-green prom dresses.
My mom piggybacked onto this: “Yeah, it looks like the exact opposite of the last place. It will be a breath of fresh air.”
Feeling grumpy and tired, I turned up my nose. “I’m not going to find what I’m looking for in that place,” I sneered. “‘I Do Bridal?’ How about ‘I Do Saks Fifth Avenue?’” I huffed, thinking myself clever.
But Molly and my mom already had me by the wrists.
They bodily threw me through the door. The first thing I saw was a tattered, industrial-style carpet littered with small threads, sequins and buttons that had fallen off sample dresses. In one corner stood a fake-gilt fainting couch for the moms. The air was musty, and as I looked up, I saw why: on three racks crammed into a space roughly the size of Dave’s 1980 two-door Volvo sedan, a mountain of wedding dresses threatened to explode from their tight confines like my back fat from a size 0 bodice.
I stifled a groan and mentally vowed to appease my mother by trying on three token dresses before I made a beeline for the car.
“Hi!” chirped a cheerful voice. Emerging from the nest of dresses like a bridal gnome, a small woman beamed at me. She looked…well, like me, only Asian. Young, with an average build, wearing comfortable jeans and a T-shirt, her glossy black hair pulled back into a low ponytail. She wore no makeup and had a genuine smile, and as she reached
If you find your dream gown and it’s in your price range, more power to you. I wasn’t so lucky. But that dress set the bar. As I happily flounced out of the snobby store, taking with me any commission Brigitte could have hoped to earn, I had to thank her for one thing: she gave me exactly what I was looking for—a vision quest. I had been within reach of The Dress, and all that remained was for me to findsomething equally gorgeous with a price tag that wouldn’t require me to sell a kidney. From then on, my dress shopping would be efficient and focused. I would only consider ball gowns, and only those under a thousand bucks.
Everything happens for a reason, my mom says. Looking back, I can see now that without the encounter with Brigitte, I never would have ended up at the next shop.
Later that afternoon, my mom, Molly and I went to lunch in the quaint neighborhood of Wallingford in Seattle. Molly spent a good part of the lunch convincing me to eat more than a piece of lettuce, reminding me that I was not actually a candidate for world’s largest woman and that I was definitely not allowed to let Brigitte and her skeletal aesthetic make me feel bad about myself. My mom simply said in her most matter-of-fact voice, “You can’t trust a girl who weighs less than the purse she carries.”
As we walked out of the café, I glanced across the street. Nestled along a rosy pink wall, four shop windows displayed mannequins in long, white gowns. Above the door to the small shop, a humble black awning read, I Do Bridal.
I’ll be honest with you. I always pictured finding my gown in a place that oozed upscale elegance. My dressing room attendant would serve my mom and bridesmaids teacakes and champagne as I tried on dress after beautiful dress, emerging from behind a billowy silk curtain to stand on a dais in front of the women in my life as they lounged on a pillow-soft couch. Even after my experience with The Harpy Formerly Known as Brigitte, I figured I’d find another store with a similar atmosphere—and more reasonable prices.
I Do Bridal looked a little…homemade, compared to my fantasy.
This is where it came in handy to have an insanely practical mother and a down-to-earth bridesmaid with me.
“Wiggs, why don’t we try that shop?” Molly asked. She knew a thing or two about finding wedding dresses in unlikely places. Her own wedding was a mere two months away, and she would be wearing anincredible raw silk A-line gown she’d found in an eastern Washington quinceañera shop that sported a window display of neon-green prom dresses.
My mom piggybacked onto this: “Yeah, it looks like the exact opposite of the last place. It will be a breath of fresh air.”
Feeling grumpy and tired, I turned up my nose. “I’m not going to find what I’m looking for in that place,” I sneered. “‘I Do Bridal?’ How about ‘I Do Saks Fifth Avenue?’” I huffed, thinking myself clever.
But Molly and my mom already had me by the wrists.
They bodily threw me through the door. The first thing I saw was a tattered, industrial-style carpet littered with small threads, sequins and buttons that had fallen off sample dresses. In one corner stood a fake-gilt fainting couch for the moms. The air was musty, and as I looked up, I saw why: on three racks crammed into a space roughly the size of Dave’s 1980 two-door Volvo sedan, a mountain of wedding dresses threatened to explode from their tight confines like my back fat from a size 0 bodice.
I stifled a groan and mentally vowed to appease my mother by trying on three token dresses before I made a beeline for the car.
“Hi!” chirped a cheerful voice. Emerging from the nest of dresses like a bridal gnome, a small woman beamed at me. She looked…well, like me, only Asian. Young, with an average build, wearing comfortable jeans and a T-shirt, her glossy black hair pulled back into a low ponytail. She wore no makeup and had a genuine smile, and as she reached
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