bridal mart.

I may not have mentioned yet the fact that I am engaged to be married on May 2nd of 2009. As of today that is only eight months away and as the date approaches two things happen: I get a little more nervous about pulling off all the details and little more excited to be married to this man that I love.  I've come around to the realization that it's frivolous to worry about the day--to be honest my only real concern is that there is red wine and if the flowers clash with the tablecloths no one, not even my Logistical Queen mother, will care.  

Of all of the details, I have been able to relax over all but one. I had been losing sleep over the dress. Not being an overly fashion-savvy person to begin with, the prospect of deciding upon the single most important dress I will ever don was costing me hours of sleep at night.  This is a jittery prospective nervousness that begins with driving to a bridal boutique and walking through the door.  All of the fitting and measuring and in-out-in-out of pants and gowns... and then you throw in the lady who insists that you try it with a veil "just to see how it looks"--the whole thing gives me a stitch in my side just to think of it.

I had finally sucked it up one morning and, like the prepped firing squad with feet planted, I informed my sister that TODAY would I venture into the badlands of bridal stores.  We went, I tried on dozens, felt vaguely sympathetic to a lab rat who's been poked and hung up by his tail, and had melted down to a point of exhaustion and hunger.  But in the end we had found a perfect dress. Perfect hue, perfect design, lovely style, incredible detail. Problem: $2,600.  Not okay.

After this experience and some serious (yet slightly irrational) consideration, I decided that I could not bring myself to spend that kind of cash on a one-time-wear, especially considering that that sum of money is more than many people have to support a family for a year in many places across the globe. I'm not a super-hero-Ginny-saint-philanthropy, but that was over the top.

A friend suggested to me that there is a place near where I live in Burlington, North Carolina called Bridal Mart.  Does the name cause you to raise your brow? It should.  This place is renowned for the fact that it carries top-notch designer dresses for incredibly discounted prices, yet it has a sort of TJ Maxx meets Costco ambiance.  When I walked in I was shell-shocked by the quantity of dresses that were squished in among about twenty-five aisles of dresses.  If there was a system, I'm not sure what it would have been.  My sister, who happens to be precisely nine months pregnant, bravely charged on that store like two-ton linebacker while my mom disappeared behind some white lace and chiffon and we went to town. I sort of stood and blinked with my mouth slightly open.  

This searching process, though overwhelming and completely reckless, went smoothly and each of us found a few dresses that could work.  My sister, hoping to move the baby along a little, volunteered to be the dress-hauler and she informed me that I was in "number 8." Assuming this meant dressing room (with a door and a bench) number 8, I gathered a few more gowns and ventured to the fitting rooms.

Or should I say fitting room.   That's right.  Bridal Mart does not have fitting rooms for brides to try on gowns. Bridal Mart has one solitary fitting room with about twenty numbered pegs stuck into the walls upon which dresses are to be hung.  Hannah meant for me to be PEG 8.  I realize that I may be unreasonable to feel entitled to my own room so, to be a good sport, I sucked up my modesty and began to try on dresses dutifully beside my peg.  Granted, I was trying dresses on over shorts as not to throw all reserve to the wind, but still rising to the group-fashion-show occasion.  

Deep in my own little I-have-to-get-this-thing-hooked-on-but-it's-too-damn-tight world, I finally looked up to see not one but two very curvaceous women, clad in not a scrap of fabric besides some anti-panties, pulling on dresses like somebody unpeeling a banana. Prancing all around their pegs two and four, these soul sisters were laughing and having a good old time in the dressing room at Bridal Mart.  I hope I didn't gawk, though the minutes are sort of fuzzy with shock so I can't be sure. I'll just say that I have never in my life felt so nondescript. 

That dressing room, such an incredible sampling of humanity! Suzie-ponytail with her mother telling her how pristine and perfect she is and Gloomy Gladys who thought that there couldn't possibly be a dress for her within the walls of Bridal Mart (much like whining that there isn't a good spot to lay on the beach of Hawaii).  And then Nancy and Nora Nudey all footloose and free--ludicrous yet laughable.

My assessment of the super store for North Carolina brides?  A+.  Not only because it delivered and relieved me of the single wedding detail that was costing me my sleep, but because it welcomes raw female humanity with a big old smile and some great wide open arms.