The Quest for the Dress

I pulled up to the building for my appointment.  It was a weekend and the place was busy.  I had read the reviews and knew that someone had commented about not judging a book by it's cover, the building didn't look like much from the outside.

When I walked in I was asked about the event I was attending, was I looking for a long or short dress....  The "girls" were pretty much just that, young and size disappear.  You know, so tiny that when they turn sideways - they disappear.

I was sent off in a direction of gowns that fit my criteria.  Miss Disappear told me that sizes didn't really matter as dresses can either be taken in or let out with more material being added.  Excuse me for having a brain, but there is no way a size 4 gown can be made into a size 16, so I guess that sizes do matter.   I am a plus size woman and dare I say it, approaching middle age (ouch! I choke on that even typing it. I have noticed that whatever the number is for being classified as middle age gets higher and higher as I approach it!)  Let's just say I am over 40.  How far is over will be saved for a post at another time.

I originally wanted a gown with sleeves, but quickly abandoned that thought when I saw my choices made me look like I might be attending a Red Hat Society event.  The next group made me look like (I NEVER did at 20) with the cut in the front of the gowns down to my toenails.  Clearly I had not found the correct section just yet.

I finally found about 5 suitable choices and retreated to the dressing room.  I was struck how incredibly heavy the gowns were, and the layers!  Oh, my, the analogy of a layer cake went through my head.  Many dresses had a liner under the bodice and at least one (or more) under the body.  After removing the gowns from the hangers, I stared, not knowing where to begin.  Do I put it down and step through it or pull it over my head?  After several missteps attempting both techniques, I decided the best approach might be pulling it over my head.

The dresses were swallowing me as I seemed to not be able to find my way out of them.  I felt like a five year old getting dressed,  much like I was crawling from the bottom of the bed to the top and getting lost in the sheets.  Linings went askew as some went out the back zippers and bodice linings went out the top.  My arms were sticking straight up and was having great difficulty finding where the spaghetti straps were.  Of course the "girls" were nowhere to be found when I needed to be rescued from this bondage known as a gown.

After this workout, I finally found it, THE dress, a gorgeous wine colored gown with multicolored rhinestones on the bodice.  Well, it was almost perfect, but it would need some alterations.  I was filling it out in all the wrong places; I couldn't zip it all the way up.  It was too tight across my ribs and there was enough room in the bodice for five breasts.

I walked out of the dressing room in the open where EVERYONE could see me as I meet the seamstress.  The woman spoke no English.  She started tucking and pinning material and without any apologetic look or hesitation, she thrust her hand down the front of the dress.  The gown either needed a strapless bra or going commando.  I was in the former state.  The seamstress had abruptly cupped a breast and was busy manipulating it making a feeble attempt to fill out the bust.  If you have seen the movie The Proposal, Betty White paws the front of a dress worn by Sandra Bullock like she is searching for gold.  She makes some analogy that locating Bullock's breasts were like searching for Easter eggs.

This scene was running through my mind as well as thinking we should have exchanged some type of conversation or a meal before things progressed to this point.  The public gropping reminded me of a date or two in high school.  She walked away and disappeared just as quickly as she had arrived.  It was so fast that I was thinking something was wrong.  She returned and stuck her hand down the front AGAIN, this time, putting a padded cup to "enhance" my appearance.

The next setback occurred when I was asked to put on heels so the seamstress to see how high to hem the dress.  I was doing my best to get her to understand that I wouldn't be wearing heels as high as what was in the shop.  It was obvious she was frustrated with me and not knowing what to do next.  She exchanged some conversation with Miss Disappear and some type of agreement was reached about the length to hem the gown.

I am sorta afraid to go for my final fitting on Thursday.

My journey to the Emmys

On August 23 I found out that I would be attending the Emmy awards, purely as a spectator.   While living in the midwest, a friend and I had dreamed of being seat fillers for the Academy Awards since as long as I can remember.  We would have viewing parties as the awards were broadcast.  Now that I am living in southern CA an event on my bucket list was about to happen.

On August 24, reality set in.  A dress, no, not a dress, but a gown would be needed for the event.  An event that I will probably never attend again and would not make sense spending $300 (or more)!  Now I must explain, dressing up for me are khaki's, a polo shirt and shoes that tie.  There is a reason my nickname is Mountain Girl.

I did some quick research and learned there were several places in Los Angeles that have gowns available for rental.  Time was of the essence since the Emmy's are less than three weeks away and I am probably not the only one needing a dress.  I called and luckily got an appointment for the next day.

I was told that the "girls" would take good care of me and assist with whatever I needed.  I had no idea what to expect.  I have scenes from Pretty Woman running through my mind as I am waited on hand and foot.  Never mind that neither I nor my date resemble Richard Gere or Julia Roberts in any form or fashion.  The finances are not similar, either.

Guess I need to make sure my undies don't have any holes and I probably should shave my legs.