Oh, the Adventure

So, my cousin is getting married. It is fantastic. I will be her bridesmaid. Double fantastic. Today I went shopping for bridesmaid dresses.

It was an adventure.

See, here's the thing. At some point in time, unbeknownst to me, a group of corporate honchos gathered in an office somewhere and made a joint decision. Short, they unanimously decided, is in. Whether it's fluffy, frilly, simple, lacy, racy, elegant, textured, shiny, bright, plain or proper, short is in. Any color, any style, any way -- as long as it's short, they've got you covered.

This is all fine and good, except that there are certain events -- weddings among them -- that require a little more than short. In fact, they require quite the opposite of short. Readers, what I'm trying to tell you is that they require long.

So, where are the long dresses? You can look high, you can look low, you can look around corners, behind racks, in crevices, on counters, floors, walls and windows, but where are the long dresses?

I exaggerate, of course. There are some long, black dresses -- if you happen to be a size 4 or 14. I'm neither. I'm somewhere in the middle. But nearly every dress I saw, nearly every store I visited, featured a small selection of long, black dresses in either a size 4 or 14.

Undeterred, I continued. I stepped into one of "those stores." You know, the kind I don't really have any business stepping into. And I know this because, after I tried on my three dresses (the cheapest of which was $358), I brought the dresses out of the dressing room. You know, to hang on the rack?

"Oh, you didn't need to do that," the lovely saleswoman (I'm not being catty; she was really lovely) said.

I didn't? At Target, they always yell at you if you don't...

I decided to go to a store that was a little more within my league. You know, the kind where the lovely salespeople ignore you altogether?

I searched. I found the slim pickings of long, black dresses -- all of which, naturally, were over $100. Don't get me wrong; I love my cousin. But I'm more of an "Oh, THIS? You're not gonna believe it -- I got it for five bucks!" or "Thank you! An old woman stopped me on the street and just GAVE it to me, can you believe it?" than an "It was on sale for $90, what a STEAL" type girl.

And then, I saw it. Long. Black. Elegant. Swooshy (oh, how I love to swoosh). With a silver clasp that just screamed glamour. Marked down to $29. Victory. Triumph. Score!

It was two sizes too small. I examined all my girly options. You know what I'm talking about -- the "It's okay, I just won't eat for two weeks" and the "What else do I have to do, besides work out eight hours a day?" and, of course, the "If I buy one of those body shaper thingies, this will fit perfectly!" options.

I even tried on a few of the said body shapers. They really do work magic. They are unnatural, illogical and straight-up circulation-stopping, but they are magical. I pondered the purchase of one. It cost $45.

$29 + $45 = still cheaper than $100, right?

These are the things we tell ourselves in quiet moments of desperation -- that a dress that is two sizes too small, when coupled with a suffocating undergarment, is in fact a "good deal."

This is silly, I thought. I should go back to the $100 dresses. $100 that fits is better than $29 + $45 that really doesn't fit.

I tried on a few more. None of them were just right. Which one is right enough, I pondered.

Ugh, none of them. I was ready to go home empty-handed. Ready to take up the kind offers that have been passed my way to just borrow a dress. Ready to get out of there.

And then, I saw it. Take Two. Long, black, fifty percent off, and legitimately my size. Legitimately.

I swooped it up (I would have swooshed it, if I could). I still plan on trying out the borrowed ones, too. But now I have options.

And I survived the wilderness out there. I did it.