Getting Ready

So, the morning of the wedding I showed up at my parents hotel at around 8AM.  I had breakfast with whoever was eating at that time (I wish that I remembered who, but there was lots to remember that day), and before I knew it I was being pushed towards the shower.

At 9AM the girls for hair and makeup showed up.  I got my makeup done while Mom had her hair done, then we switched.

(Please note the super comfy "Duke Fencing" sweatpants)

The photographer was there for a few photos (not these), but I won't rant about him now.  Well, maybe a little.  He just didn't listen.  I would ask him for a certain photo and he wouldn't do it.  How maddening.

Then it was time to put on my dress.  Everyone has a story about their dress, including me.

I bought my dress at a boutique in the suburbs of Chicago, a few block away from my parents house.  My sister bought her wedding gown there too.  But hers was actually a wedding gown whereas mine was just a bridesmaid dress in white.  I know that there is some rumor out there that buying your wedding dress is supposed to be some fantastical experience and that you will fall in love with it in the same way you did your fiance and that your life will then be perfect.  I was the antithesis of that rumor.  I mean, it's just a dress that you wear once.

The lady who was helping me was a crotchety old witch.  But she was fabulous.  I told her I didn't want a strapless dress because I was actually planning on dancing at my wedding (and didn't want my boobs jumping around) and that I didn't want a train because I didn't want to need assistance going to the toilet (plus, think about all the grass stains).  She waved her hand to a rack of bridesmaid dresses and told me to get looking.  I tried on about a dozen, with her pinching and prodding and adjusting both me and my parts as well as the dress to get the look right (for those of you who had never had such an experience, all the samples to try on come in one size, which was gigantic on me because at the time I was a skeletal 100lbs due to my thyroid problem).

Finally I found one that I liked.  I mean, it was OK.  I didn't love it, but it was just a dress.  A dress that I would wear once.  I honestly had no desire to spend time, energy, and money on a dress for just one day.  But Mom liked it.  We tried to order it, but it wasn't being made anymore.  The owner suggested another dress that was similar, but had a halter top.  I didn't want a halter dress - that is for someone else's beach fantasy.  But everyone else loved it - so I bought it (and eventually grew to really like it).

The End.

Just kidding, that's not the story, it's a bit lame for a story.  That's just the prologue.  Or maybe it is the story, but the epilogue is the interesting part.

For my high school graduation we were required to wear white dresses that were below the knee and were not strapless.  The men were in white tuxedo jackets with white shirts, black tuxedo pants, black sock, black shoes, black tie, and black cummerbund.  Each girl held a dozen roses, so it looked like some mass wedding.  But that's not the point.  When I was purchasing the dress one of the women who worked at the shop said to me, "Oh, you'll look so beautiful at graduation in that dress."

WTF?

"Actually," I replied, "it's my wedding dress." "No," she said, "you're too young to be getting married.  How old are you, 19? 20?"  "I'm 29.  I'll be 30 at the time of the wedding."  She almost fainted.

But back to Cuenca.

So the dress was on, I was ready.  Well, not quite ready to leave the hotel yet...