Apparently, our definition of "simple" differs
Leada DeVaney, Editor
"Have you looked for a dress yet?" my mother asked me last week. "You know, I can't buy mine until you get yours. How am I supposed to know how long or what style mine should be? You know you really need to…"
I got the hint. I needed to find a wedding dress, even if that project was 657 on my list of things to do. Still, there's nothing like a mother's guilt trip to prompt you into action, so, during a recent trip to Birmingham, I stopped in at a bridal shop my mother had recommended.
The first indication of trouble was I was told I would have to take a number and then wait on a bridal consultant to help me.
"How about I just look at what's here and then go try it on," I suggested. "If I need a consultant, I will consult you."
That didn't go over too well and I was informed I would need to cool my heels in the corner. Eventually (actually about an hour later) my consultant, who looked to be about 18, arrived at the front of the store.
"What exactly are you looking for?" she asked.
"A dress. Specifically, a wedding dress. Nothing too fancy and I don't want any sequins or spangles. I really want it simple."
She breezed by me and started pulling poufy white dresses off the wall.
"Um, I really don't like those," I said. "I would prefer not to walk down the aisle looking like Barbie's dream wedding. I want simple and plain, something more like this," I said as I pulled a dress from the rack.
She eyed me wearily and I proceeded to select a few more. She hung the cotton-ball looking dressed back up, obviously convinced that I had no taste and was not a true bride.
I went back to the dressing room, where I encountered about 20 squealing soon-to-be brides, all whom appeared to be wearing various forms of white puffy cloth.
"Can you put me in the back," I asked. "Really, I don't need any help. Give me a dressing room, pull the curtain and I will be out of here in 10 minutes flat."
I tried on the dresses, more so that I could tell my mother I had done so than any actual effort to purchase a dress.
Disappointed she could neither fluff or zip me, the salesperson disappeared, only to come back and tell me she had found "a perfect, simple dress." She pulled back the curtain and thrust the dress to me. It was white and had layers of fabric.
Feeling guilty, I decided to try it on. It had a large skirt which was held up by layers of scratchy netting. I looked like a doll propped up inside a roll of toilet paper.
"Thanks," I said. "But this is way too…poufy. Perhaps you have something in a non-toilet paper style?"
The consultant was not pleased.