Apocalypse Dress

I woke up Saturday morning and knew something terrible...an unalterable, undeniable truth: I don't have a dress.

I was suddenly absolutely certain that I did not want to wear the green one for the ceremony. A passing comment while trying on white dresses the week before had made me realize that, while I love the concept and the colour of the green one, it is not a cut or style I would ever choose for myself or my figure. And for reasons only my fickle internal self will ever understand, this realization meant that the dress was immediately out of the game. Okay...fine. But without the green one settled, I have...no dress settled.

Panic set in. I began searching through websites again, aware that every minute that ticked by was another minute I was too late to be ordering a dress from a bridal place. I found my mind racing through every dress I've ever tried on, trying to recall where there may be a sample dress that fits, and if there's any hope of the style I truly want. It seemed grim, which just seemed to make me more angry and crazy. I promptly took myself to Brian's work where he was having his lunch break, and told him I was calling off the wedding.

Brian is a good yin to my wild yang. He didn't argue or respond with outrage, but rather, asked me what the problem was. I told him I couldn't find a dress. I told him that I'd found dresses I loved, online, but almost all of them were way out of our price range, assuming we came up with a price range. I told him this whole thing was stupid anyway, because why did people get married? Bri had no quick answer, and I said that was exactly right: there was no answer. I asked him what role models did we have for marriage? Our friends, numerous ones who are getting messy divorces, or are cheating on their spouses, or are from an older generation to which we cannot relate? (Wide eyes and flailing hands accompanied this.) Ohhh, sure, I have a friend we'll call Marie, and she blogs and chatters away on facebook about how 'beautiful her kids are, and how perfect her Julia Child cooking journey is going', but I know, I just know, Marie, that you've gotta be hiding something pretty juicy behind all that June Cleaver cheer...no one is that cheery without sporting a serious pill habit!

I may have actually been shouting by the end of my rant. Brian tried to talk me down, but I was deafened by the panic in my own ears. I left and called Mo and told her I wanted to call the whole thing off. I told her (and this is probably the real root of all the panic) that Brian's trip to the hospital had shaken me and I didn't understand why anyone would put themselves in a position to be so attached to something as fragile as another human being: something so breakable, unreliable, fickle, and emotional. (Well, I doubt I was that clear or eloquent, but that was definitely what I was trying to say.)

I can't tell you what Mo said to calm me down because I'm not sure I actually did calm down; I think I just got distracted. I know I ranted on about wedding details for another twenty minutes, and by the end of it, I was pretty sure that figuring out this dress issue would at least calm me down about the big day itself. That gave me some reprieve: surely to god I can find one perfect, cost free/low-cost dress that will make me feel beautiful and young and vibrant? Right?

It wasn't until this morning that I calmed down about the rest of my worries...the real ones, the ones about marriage and people. My bridesmaid Tam received a harried email about dresses and dying and divorce last night, and replied this morning over a series of texts. She said that like it or not, Brian and I had already been on the path to real bonding for some time, and that the wedding wasn't really going to make that worse or better. She said I know how much it would hurt to lose each other, and that the ring on a finger (or tattoo on an arm) isn't going to change that aspect of things. I read that and felt a feeling much like I did when I was hanging one hundred feet over the jungle canopy in Mexico on a zipline: I realized that there wasn't any point in screaming or clawing at the ropes anymore, because I was already past the point of no return; after that, I relaxed to an almost humorous state and enjoy the zip-ride. Tam made me realize, I am already at the point of no return: Brian is as important to me now as he will be in five months on that special day. So I might as well stop scrabbling at the safety lines and surrender to the adventure.

Okay. So I have stopped freaking out about the concept of marriage, itself. Thank you, sweet Tam. But my dress is still a problem. I am ready, willing, and able to enter into a lifetime of loving matrimony with this sweet person...but like I said to him on his lunch break (albeit during some sort of psychotic episode), I refuse to do it if I don't look good. The dress is my armor, uniform, and statement for the day. Aside from a cool cake, it's the only thing I've had a real insistence on, and I am absolutely certain that no one can argue whether I've been a flexible bride to this point (case in point: this entire wedding project). I just want one lovely dress. Yes, I am a little surprised (read: disgusted) that it turns out, I'm one of those girls who freaks out about her wedding dress...but god help me, I am, and I can't change it. So let's review:

White (well, ivory).
Some texture...maybe lace. Not satin.
1950's circle dress (aka 'swing dress') silhouette.
Apple green crinoline or petticoat...I still don't know the difference.
Tea or knee length, to show off my cowboy boots.

Suggestions welcome. Offers heartily encouraged. Save a good sporty girl from total GIRLBEAST meltdown.