The dress saga began way back in September of last year when VBF picked out her colours and told me that I would be required to be suitably decked out in a particular shade of purple to match with the groom's tartan. Groom, Best Man and Father of Groom would all be wearing full traditional Scottish attire and for once, the women had to match up with the men.
Sure thing, I said. No Problemo! Easy Peasy - and many more such phrases. After all, I was the only bridesmaid so I could buy virtually any style of dress and it would be OK since I didn't have to worry about any one else in the bridal party. VBF even went a step further to say that I could pick out a dress that had any combination of ivory, silver and purple and she'd be just fine with it.
Fast forward. Spring 2008.
Conscious of the fact that I know little or nothing about dress shopping, my colleague Ms. Shopaholic takes it upon herself to make sure that I am suitably clad for this wedding. Over the next three months she drags me every possible store in the downtown area - before work, on our lunch break, after work, on weekends - and makes me try on what seems like 100s of dresses. "Too long" "Too short" "Too tight" (implied - loose some flab) "Too skanky" "Not skanky enough"...... she dismisses each one as I amble out of the dressing room and take a walk around the store (as per her instructions). As each dress was cast aside, I see my dream of gaining a dress in a quick and painless manner fading away. The few dresses that DO meet Shopaholic’s high (HIGH) standards are the wrong shade of purple. We do find a few nice black dresses that I long to just buy. VBF won’t mind – she’s just thankful I’m able to make it to this twice postponed wedding. But I know that my mother will throw a blue fit when she finds out that I’ve picked out a black dress to wear to my VBF’s wedding. “Very inauspicious”, she would yell. “You want to be the cause of bad luck on their wedding day?” And then she would make me return it anyway – so what’s the point? The very Caucasian, very Cosmopolitan Shopaholic does not understand this aversion to the classic black dress, but on this point I stand firm. “Yes, I realize the only dress that does not make me look like a tub of lard is the black one, but I cannot wear it to this wedding and risk the wrath of my superstitious Indian mother.” I’m also assuming that the bride’s mother will also not be too keen on the idea – being an Indian mother as well.
I guess it's back to the drawing board.