So as promised in yesterday’s post, I’m here to tell you the tale of how weddings are basically secret inventions by retail companies/people who want to see how many times they can get you to stand naked and let people get weirdly close to you and talk about your body and demand you put it into corsets.
Also, the seamstress altering my wedding gown is basically the reason all life was invented.
You see, last night I had my first dress fitting. Well, sort of. I went one time before and she was like “Your dress is too big for you but you also didn’t make an appointment and so can you come back when you make an appointment?” And because she’s commanding (and Russian), I started flop-sweating, grabbed my dress, and yell-made my next appointment as I ran out of the room.
Fast-forward to last night when I had an actual appointment and she was ready to do her thing. Which she did. But first, she needed to feel me up a little bit because apparently it’s a benefit of her job OR the worst part of her day.
Seamstress: “You are going to be gorgeous. Take off your clothes.”
Sidebar: that’s how CB proposed to me.
So obviously I started awkwardly undressing and then she said “Wait, stand up. How big are your breasts?” and before I could start to stutter something about my cup size, she reached over and started feeling-slash-jiggling them? It was like a weird, on-top-of-the-shirt breast exam or first base moment in 9th grade. But unlike an awkward pubescent boy, she looked me square in the eye and said “You have big breasts. We must lift them up so you have cleavage!”
And so then immediately I started to sweat as she searched for a corset while also thinking “Wow, CB’s going to be so excited!”
Me: “That sounds great. But I don’t want to look weirdly busty on my wedding day.”
Seamstress: “You will look beautiful. Look at you! You have these breasts, we lift them up and your husband say ‘I love you more!’”
Obviously she’s met CB before.
So I get into the corset (“Look at you! Look at you! Look how beautiful the breasts!”) and I slid the dress on and was like “Is there any chance we can stop talking about my breasts now?”
Seamstress: “You see? No slutty, just beautiful and shows your gorgeous body but you shy and modest and it’s ok because it’s perfect. Not too much. Not too much.”
And she was right. I didn’t look like Jessica Rabbit (sorry, CB) but I looked like a bride, you guys! And not half-bad! Basically, I looked way better than the other night when I danced around the bedroom in my wedding dress, holding it up because it kept falling down, and being like “I’m a bride! I’m a bride!”
Also, during all of this there was a television show on in the background that caught my attention because there was an attractive woman on stage singing a song in Russian with some men and women who appeared to be judges looking on.
Me: “Is this some sort of talent competition?”
Seamstress: “No, this marriage show. She sings her song and three men come in and pick her to be his wife. Very beautiful. Lots of people get married this way.”
Me: “Wait, she sings a song and then a man chooses her and they get married? Do they get married on tv?”
Seamstress: “Yes, it all happens this hour. Turn ‘round. Look at breasts. You’re beautiful!”
And they lived happily ever after.
Happy Thursday, everyone!