Day Three, Part 3: $%^&# Dress on This $%^$@ Plane

Seriously. This has been a Big Day. After bidding my parents a tearful farewell, it was time for the tough part of the day to get underway. This trip took place in several stages, each of which had its own “special moment”:

Phase 1: Returning the Rental Car. Wearing my dress, I drove the hour and fifteen minutes from my folks’ home to Detroit Metro Airport in my rental car. Upon reaching the Alamo lot, I emerged from the car, and got zero reaction from the efficient lady who checked the car back in. A little disappointing. Then I got on the shuttle bus to take me to the terminal. Two business dudes were seated across from me. At first, they too seemed to react little to my bridal-party-meets-track-star attire… then, I heard the quiet click of one of them snapping a clandestine photo on their cell phone. That’s more like it!

Phase 2: Making it through Security. Clearly, when I decided to take on this little experiment, I knew I’d get some stares. But I was unprepared for the full-out gawking in the winding line waiting to get up through security. Little girls pointed out my “pretty pretty dress” to their mommies, who averted their eyes. Several folks gave me big grins and nodded, offering some sort of mysterious support. One guy gave me a thumbs-up. When I reached the TSA agent, he stared at me. “That’s a nice dress,” he said, in a tone that clearly meant I am currently evaluating whether or not you and your uber-pink dress are a threat to national security. (Evidently, he decided we were not – made it through with no hassle! Not even a pat down! Better than usual! I should wear this thing all the time!) It was a long line, though, and I was tired... but did get a nice girl sitting in the terminal with an iPod to take this picture on the other side of the security gate. "Cool idea," she said, when I told her about the week-long dress-wearing. "Hope you make it."

Phase 3: Up in the Air. I had two flights to get through. Oh, and have I mentioned I hate flying? I generally spend flights doped up on Dramamine, eyes closed, praying hard and gripped by an unswerving sense of doom. “Terrified” is not a good look on anyone, let alone a rapidly-more-bedraggled wayward bridesmaid. I asked the man seated across from me to take my picture, which led to the following exchange:

• Stranger: “Um. Why?”
• Me: “I’m wearing this bridesmaid dress for a week. To get my money’s worth.”
• Stranger: “You’re wearing the dress for a week before the wedding?”Me:  “No, no, the wedding was this past weekend. Wearing it before the week would be crazy!”
• Stranger: “Yeah, sure, I’ll take your picture.” (Subtext: you already live in Crazytown, Dress-Girl.)

So that was that. I survived flight one. Made it to Memphis, where the entire airport smells like BBQ. Reminded myself that I’m already two stains in, and have four more days to go. Walked past the BBQ. Got on my second flight. Exit row, all to myself. Made it home, to almost no points and stares – apparently down South, formal wear in traditionally informal settings is just more common. We’ll see how the rest of the week goes. I feel certain I’ll get some Southern reactions.

Stay tuned for Day Four: Hi Ho, Hi Ho, It’s Off to Work We Go… (and by “we,” I mean, of course, the dress and me – and you, dear readers).

DAY THREE TALLY:

Stains: 0!!

Tearful Parental Farewells: 1 episode, shared by 3 people

Flights: 2

Shameless Full-On Stares: Approximately 2,765,432

Clandestine Photographs: At least 1

Blog Posts: 3.... the rest of the week will likely not be so prolific. But you never know.

Day Three, Part 2: Small Towns & Swim Trunks

I'm saying it now, and I'm sure I'll say it again before the week's out: wearing a bridesmaid dress for an entire week is not as easy as it looks, y’all.

First off: what’s with the swim trunks, you’re wondering? I’m glad you asked. One cannot enter into a project like this lightly, you see. Some planning is required. Thinking ahead to this afternoon, when I would be flying cross country, it occurred to me this morning that perhaps I should wear something more than my skivvies beneath the dress, in case the TSA folks got all pat-down-happy. So I asked my father whether or not perhaps there were any spare shorts one of my brothers may have left at the house at some point. This led to a scavenger hunt, and the following conversation:

Dad: “Do you want to just borrow some boxers?”

Me: “Well, only if they’re boxers that nobody wears.”

Dad (opening his dresser drawer, pulling out boxer shorts with a busy playing card print): “These are my poker-game boxers. You could borrow these.”

Me: “Um….”

Dad: “Or wait! How about swim trunks?” (rooting through the recesses of the drawer, he emerges with a pair of small red swim trunks)

Me: “These are yours?”

Dad: “Yeah, but I never wear them.”

Me: “Good. Because you’re not allowed to wear swim trunks this short, Dad.”

He shrugged. But I was serious. The length of that bathing suit may have been acceptable in 1972. Not so in 2011. So I took the swim trunks, put ‘em on under the dress, and we hit the road.

Next on the agenda: perplex the good citizens of small-town heartland-of-America. My mother, father and I drove to Fenton, Michigan, and spent a lovely morning/lunch hour making old pickups slow their roll to see why two perfectly normal looking Midwestern folks were taking goofy pictures of a clearly insane young woman wearing a rumpled prom dress.

My mother, the director, would call the shots: “Go into a running stance! Show us the swim trunks! Run from the policeman!”

My father, chuckling, would then snap the incriminating images.

After about an hour, I was getting overly warm. The Evil David dress is designed to be just wrong for every temperature. It’s strapless, backless, and short – i.e., if it’s cold, you’re outta luck; it’s also made of heavy, does-not-breathe nylon, and thus if it’s warm, you’re just as screwed. So we went to one of our favorite Fenton locales, a little place called The French Laundry, where we had some cold beers – and spotted the menu heading “Would b Prom Queens” … which, my parents agreed, is exactly what I looked like.

Next up: Heading to the Airport!

Day Three, Part 1

Today is going to be a big day. I'm flying across the country (two planes). Possible plans for this morning, before returning a rental car and checking in at the airport, include putt-putt golf and/or going out to lunch.

Stay tuned, and in the meantime, enjoy this photo I just spotted on Facebook. (Told you I danced in the dress. Even before the dancing officially started.) Identities of the innocent bridal party members who may not wish to be associated with this crazy experiment have been protected, utilizing the traditional tried-and-true, black-box-over-eyes method. If it's good enough for To Catch a Predator, it's good enough for me.

Time to get back in to the dress....

(Day 2a: Why Does Blogger Hate Me?)

Every time I load photos into posts, Blogger messes up all formatting. When I try to fix it, it erases the pictures. I literally had to put my last post up 10 times... and still couldn't get it to include this picture:

Which is really too exuberant to be left out, see?

Before I go any further with this and/or throw the computer out the window, anyone have any suggestions about how to make the blog behave? (Other than "switch to Word Press"?)

Day Two: Chinese Food & Misfortune, Cookie

The experiment begins!

Confession: I cheated a little. See, this morning was the bridal party breakfast, the last event of the wedding weekend – and I didn’t wear the bridesmaid gear to the bridal party brunch. Frankly, I didn’t want anyone assuming that I was still wearing it after some crazy bender the night before. I didn’t want to be that bridesmaid.

I’m just gonna be the one wearing the dress all week. Different kind of crazy, see?

However, in order to make the challenge legitimate, as soon as I drove over to my parents’ house, I put the dress back on. My dad took a few fun, goofy shots outside – but I knew that alone was insufficient. I can’t wear the dress and stay home every day; then I’d just be an overdressed hermit. So my parents and I picked up my grandmother, and the four of us went out for Chinese food.

“I think the dress looks pretty,” said my grandmother.

“It makes her look pregnant,” said my mother.

“The dress does not make her look pregnant!” said my father.

“So you’re saying it’s not the dress, but that maybe she has something to tell us?” Mom countered.

(Welcome to my family, folks.)

My grandmother was craving Chinese, so we set out to secure some tasty MSG-laden cuisine. Finding a restaurant proved harder than we thought - apparently, many Chinese restaurants are closed for Memorial Day. After striking out at the first two places we tried, the third time was the charm. My father and I gamely posed with the elaborate statuary outside the restaurant. After taking the first jovial picture, we noticed upon closer inspection that the golden statue appeared to be squishing one of its offspring beneath its formidable paw. This was moderately disconcerting. (I am uncertain of the symbolism. But I vaguely felt that complaining about my food would not go well.)

Luckily, there was no need to complain. The food was delicious, and the waitress didn’t bat an eye at the three normally-dressed folks accompanied by a short girl who looked like she lost the rest of her wedding party somewhere. Then again, I may have just looked like a wayward prom queen wanabe, and in polite cultures, such things are not pointed out. When my dad asked the folks at the table next to us to take a picture, the guy did raise his eyebrows at my attire.

“My daughter is in town from Mississippi,” my father explained. Nodding, the man took our picture.

As we walked out to the car, carrying our takeout – the takeout dripped. On to my dress. Nooooo! One day into the real experiment, we’re already stained. I stopped at Walgreens to get a stain-removing stick. The stick removed the stains… and left watermarks in their place. Sigh.
I lay the dress out to dry. Went to check later: watermarks remained. Then my parents’ large Labrador retriever pushed his way in to the room. He wanted to check the dress, too – and by check, I mean goobered all over a bottom corner of the dress. Creating stain number two: dog goober. Double sigh.

DAY TWO TALLY:

Stain Count: 2 (watermarks replacing MSG; dog slobber)
Full-out Stares: 3 (amateur photographer at Chinese restaurant, mother and daughter at Walgreens; clerk at Walgreens and waitress at restaurant both nonplussed – clearly, professionals.)
Times my mother told me I looked pregnant: Just the 1.
Strange Statues Squishing Offspring: Also just the 1.

Day One: The Wedding

No snarky comments here. I wore the dress, on the appropriate and intended special day. I smiled for a lot of pictures. I cried when my friend walked down the aisle, and when her parents teared up, and when her brother gave a beautiful speech, and when the groom's brother gave a beautiful speech. I ate my salmon dinner and was careful not to spill. I danced and danced and danced in the dress. Note to self: probably not wise to work up that much of a sweat in a dress you're planning to wear all week.*

Much love and many congratulations to my newly-married friends.

(And no. I didn’t tell them about the upcoming week-of-wearing-the-bridal-party-attire. Shhh.)

DAY ONE TALLY:
Stains: 0!!*
Times I cried: At least 6
Beautiful Brides: 1
Dashing Grooms: 1
People I told about upcoming Week-in-The-Dress Experiment: 0

.....................................................................................


*No matter what happens this week, I will not be full-out washing the dress. It's dry clean only, and I've already spent enough on this piece of fabric.

Would You Wear a Bridesmaid Dress - for a Whole WEEK?

How to kick off the little pixie magic blog? We'll need to jump right in with something fun. Something colorful.

So I'm thinking we start with an overpriced watermelon-colored dress.


See, I'm in a wedding this weekend - bridesmaid duty for a dear friend. I've been in several weddings in the past several years, and while I'm not quite to the level of 27 Dresses insanity or "always a bridesmaid, never a bride" desparation - I have racked up a good bit of experience with the whole bridesmaids-ing thing. And here's one thing I have found to be true, in every one of these weddings: I have never worn my bridesmaid dress ever again.

It's true. I spend more on a bridesmaid dress than on any other single item of clothing I buy, and then I wear it once. I love my friends and am honored when asked to celebrate with them in this way. But let's be clear: bridesmaids dresses are a total racket. Dudes get to rent a tux - wear it, return it, done. We have to purchase a dress, usually get it fitted, buy matching shoes, etc... all for one (all-important and much-photographed, but ONE) wearing.



So this time I'm gonna get my money's worth. After wearing the dress for my friend's wedding, I'm going to keep wearing it. Out and about. For a solid week.


Let's see how it goes.

(PS Regarding the image of the dress in question, on a model, included in this post: I had to buy this bridesmaid's dress at a chain bridal store... let's call it EVIL DAVID'S. So in order to find a pristine picture of it, I first went looking for the dress on the store's website. Guess what? Not only is the dress ureturnable - it's already been discontinued and has been erased from Evil David's inventory. However, the dress in question - style #83475, color: Watermelon - is readily available on sites like RecycledBride.com and Ebay. Seriously. Why didn't I look there before sinking my money over at Evil David's? This experiment is already proving educational!)