Week in review: shoe fail, jacket fail, yoga fail, and more.

I hunted shoes last week and failed. I dragged my sweetheart across the city in rush hour traffic, paid a cover charge, and sat in a gymnasium full of 8^th-graders and their parents, all in the hopes of getting this one pair of shoes for the wedding. And then I missed them. It was that kind of week from start to finish, but the shoes…the shoes haunt my dreams.

Last Wednesday, Henry Munro Public School held an event called ‘The Gift of Thrift’. It was put on by the 8-6 class, and was a fundraiser for a local animal refuge. They were featured early that week on ‘A’ Morning here in Ottawa, where they showed off some of the fashions they had assembled from thrift stores, to show and sell at the event. While their girls strutted their stuff on TV, I noticed a pair of white round-toed kitten heels that were super cute…and potentially, just perfect for my dress. You may recall, an artist named Figgie Shoes is supposed to paint me a pair of shoes to wear for dancing; but I haven’t yet found a pair of light-coloured heels I liked for her to paint. That is, until I saw these ones.

I talked Brian into coming with me, which wasn’t hard because Bri loves any adventure. I made a picnic dinner to eat in the car after the show so we wouldn’t go hungry, and Brian drove us a half-hour across town (well, 45 minutes with the traffic). We arrived at the school, bought our admission, and went in. I waited eagerly for the fashion show to start, and was ready to show Brian the shoes when they came down the catwalk…but they never came. Or if they did, we completely missed them. I started to worry, because I’d actually taken the time to write to the organizers and confirm that the white shoes would be there and available for purchase. But we were hopeful as, after the show, we approached the sales area and began digging through the clothes brought out for us to buy.

I had my hands full of a cardigan and party dress that I was debating about trying on when I looked up and saw a young woman and her sweetheart holding the shoes I’d been coveting. I made a whimpering sound as they handed cash over to an organizer and walked away. I clutched at Brian’s shirt, swooning slightly, as I breathlessly asked him what size they’d been; he answered that he’d seen a 6 on the insole. Phew, I thought—I’m a 9, 9.5 on occasion—until I clarified with Brian which way up the ‘6’ had been facing. The argument over which way up would constitute a 9, versus a 6, went on well into the evening until finally, tucked into bed and turning off my light, I cursed under my breath and went to check out my own shoes. Sure enough, given the direction that 9’s are printed in my own shoes, those damnable shoes at the fashion show were, indeed, my size.

I sit here, a week after the show, and this story still pains me. Figgie needs me to find shoes, and because of our self-inflicted budget constraints, they have to be under ten dollars. This means thrift stores, and that means a needle in a haystack. To have such lovely little white shoes literally walk out from under my nose…ugh, the pain! I have been repeatedly chiding myself for not having the guts to go over and explain to the girl why I had to have those shoes. But surely that would have made me an official crazy person. And yes, I acknowledge that searching endlessly for a pair of white heels makes me a crazy bride anyway, but I’d actually label myself just a regular crazy female; because I’m always shoe-crazy and I will always beat myself up for missing out on perfect shoes.

They even had a stripe of piping around the…okay, I’ll stop.

So Brian and I were attempting to do a yoga podcast on Friday that he downloaded off iTunes for free. I have a fear of yoga after hurting my back about four years ago at a course that was touted as being ‘beginner’ but turned out to be ‘torture’. Six months of back pain later, I swore I’d never return to yoga. But last year I tried a yin yoga class and really loved it, so I’ve been letting Brian walk me through these twenty-minute podcasts by Yogamazing. Pretty cool. Anyway, we were just getting into a downward dog, I think, and the stress in my back and neck let go…and suddenly I just started crying. I lay on my yoga mat and wailed. I told him this wedding was too hard, too much work, and that I was probably effing it all up. I told him that I couldn’t do it anymore, and that for some reason we just didn’t seem to be able to get the last few elements taken care of. Brian asked what was worrying me the most, and I said the leather motorcycle jacket we want him to have instead of a suit jacket; Bri said he didn’t care if he was in jeans and a t-shirt, he was still marrying me. Through tears and raging anxiety, I told him that if I started walking down that aisle and he wasn’t dressed in a leather jacket, I would turn right back around and there’d be no wedding. I think he laughed a little, and I think my right eyebrow shot right up to my hairline, because he meekly reassured me he’d have the jacket, then.

The next day, I relayed this story to my bridesmaid (and cousin) Suzie, and we both laughed incredulously at what seems like a pretty genuine Monster Bride moment. I told her that, calmer now and out in the real world again, I was able to acknowledge just how crazy my jacket freakout was…but despite that, I was still pretty sure I meant it. She laughed again, not dismissively but more ruefully. And hey, I feel pretty okay with wanting this to happen so badly; Brian’s leather jacket was one of the half-handful of non-negotiables we’ve ever had for this wedding, and seeing as it was already a compromise on a fully custom-made suit that Brian had originally envisioned, I really want to make it happen. So this week we’ve started making a concerted effort to hit the thrift shops in the area, and are very much open to more ideas.

We’re both really happy to have Suzie in town, though. She just moved back to Ottawa from Calgary, Alberta (3000 kilometres away or so) and is here temporarily while she seeks a job and housing in Toronto. She joined me, my mom, and her mom/my aunt at the Ottawa Women’s Show this past weekend; I tend to get a little frustrated with the gender-stereotypical offerings at such events, but it turned out to be a lot of fun, and it was so nice to talk to Suzie in person about the wedding. She’s been such a help these past few months, and I can always rely on her to chase down the most random details (read: the details I most obsess about), like the price of little brass bells. It’s nice to have her in town and will be hard to have her leave again. Although Toronto is about a thousand times closer to here than Calgary!

Another happening this past week in terms of bridal party: Mo (aka Heather) and Tam exchanged jobs. Heather, having a rather full plate and big, fat, huge, totally reasonable reasons for being short on time, is passing her Maid of Honor crown to Tamara. Tamara is crazy, and sleeps twelve minutes a night, so despite having three children and working towards her PhD, is excited and happy to wear the title of Matron of Honor. Actually, the agreement was that she be knighted as well, given that ‘matron’ sounds so royal; so let me be the first to introduce Sir Tam, Matron of Honor of the House of Kent. (Kent: that’s me.) Tamara has stepped up to the plate, dealing with shower invite stresses and messed-up RSVP links (that I may or may not have been responsible for…my bad). I feel really good about this switch; I want to be sure all my ‘maids’ are having a good time and are in roles that suit their skills, time, and interest level in the duties. I think we’ve got things ironed out really well now, and I feel confident that Sir Tam will have no qualms about holding back my feathers while I puke before the ceremony.

We did have a really nice time on Sunday, though. Following the advice of our planner Amy, we spent some non-wedding time together and instead went down to the year's first Landsdowne Farmer's Market. We split a plate of food that modestly called itself the 'Farmers' Market Breakfast' but should have been called the 'Farmer's Market glutton-athon'. Three kinds of meat, scrambled eggs, chip-shaped homefries and beans formed a mountain of awesome on a paper plate. Brian was in heaven; I rarely encourage this type of eating, and as he munched away he kept trying to sing the virtues of the high-protein meal. I reminded him it wasn't so much the content as the quantity that was going to kill us, and he conceded defeat. So as a meal, it was a wellness fail; but as a treat, it made Brian happier than maybe anything I've ever seen. His satisfied mmmm's went on well into the afternoon. We followed up our trip to the Farmer's Market with a stop into VegFest, a vegan/vegetarian festival I'd really wanted to check out. I stressed upon Brian the fact that no one at this event was going to want to hear him brag about his 80%-meat-content breakfast and he laughed an evil laugh but was well-behaved. I definitely qualify this as a veg-fail, though: we were so full of sausage-bacon-ham-egg-fries-bean goodness that I couldn't even bring myself to sample most of the vegetarian goodies that I had been so excited to try. We settled for gathering business cards and waddled out, lovingly caressing our round bellies--food babies for certain.

Thus, a week of mostly failures, but not entirely. We’ve had some amazing offers this past week or two, and we really want to post them; give us a day or two to confirm a couple and make sure we give you the best details possible. Suffice it to hint, my ensemble should now be complete.

Ooh…except for shoes. Gah, I really wanted those shoes! Picture them, with the stripe around the edge, and…okay, maybe it’s time for some more yoga.

Namaste, Namaste, Namaste.