I walked in confident that everyone knew that I had purchased my boots at Marshall's, my shirt at the Gap and well, I picked up my jeans at the ward Christmas swap two years ago. The sales girls looked me over with a practiced eye and let me walk by. Normally, I might have felt awkward enough to turn around and walk out of the over-priced department store and return to the Target-corner from whence I came. But today was different, I had a little nugget of gold in the form of a gift card in my purse, a wedding in a week, a full fledged dress emergency and knowledge I would not return to this haven for all things pricey for many haute couture seasons. I made up mind while fingering a Louis Vuitton purse that I was going to enjoy this experience. How hard can it be to spend someone else's money? I picked up dresses with price tags that would normally bring a good gag reflex. I twirled around the racks while designer names I had never heard of before swirled around in my brain. I soon became dizzy and overwhelmed. Where was that familiar red dot? So when the sales lady asked if she could help me, I enthusiastically agreed. She was skilled, I will give her that. She took my measure in a glance and picked the absolutely perfect dress. I tried it on and it was true love. I felt skinny. I am not over exaggerating here. It was if I had met the perfect man, well almost perfect man. He, I mean,
it was a couple inches too short. It was Jr. High at the Valentine's dance all over again--dancing with boys whose eyes were the same level as my chest. (Perhaps, the reason for my sudden popularity?) Curse my height! I knew I would never love another dress like this one. I expressed this to the kind but confused sales lady--Linda.
"You must have it. It was made for you!" she exclaimed.
"I know" I said, sorrowfully.
"Well, what's the problem, then?"
"It's too short."
"Really? With a pair of heels and some hose it will look fantastic."
Oh, how do I explain to my sweet Linda that no pair of hose will cover 2 inches of white garment hanging out. (I triple rolled them before Linda came into the dressing room.) How could I explain the horror of the temple matrons when I walked into the sealing room literally wearing my religion. I mumbled something about small children and bending over. Linda, smelling a disappearing sale, quickly suggested we call a tailor to see if the dress could be lengthened. It was the exact same feeling I felt when I realized the boys had finally grown and now I was looking at their chests. I grinned and said, "Okay."
Apparently in expensive department stores they don't want to give you much time to think/change your mind because the seamstress arrived almost immediately. With middle eastern european gusto, she explained that the dress could be lengthened a little bit but couldn't understand why I would want to change a beautiful dress. I believe the word, "matronly" came out of her mouth. Aghast, I explained about the bending, etc. Never, ever say the word matronly to a thirty-something!! Seriously, offensive. "It will be fine with hose." Did these two consult before they came in? Were they in cahoots? Nazi seamstress then demanded I try on the dress. I agreed but she would not leave the dressing room. I was mortified. There was no way I was displaying my religion. I had to ask her to leave the room while I changed. She gave me a weird look but complied. Could this experience be any more embarrassing? "It looks good. Why you change?" Finally, I explained about my religious undergarments, etc. She looked at me like I was a member of the Taliban. Nevertheless, Ms. Tailor decided she would help me.
I am now the fortunate owner of the dress, lengthened, of course. However, I may be scarred for life.
This trip to Disneyland was wonderful. Robert was suppose to be in Singapore but surprised us at our hotel the night before so he could come with us. My Grandma came with us just like old times. The park was not crowded. The kids were happy. It was seriously awesome! I have to say that my Grandma went on Space Mountain. Yep, she's pretty cool. Jackson held Grandpa's hand on the scary rides, just like I used to hold my Grandpa's hand. I have such happy memories of good times at Disney land. This is one of them now.
