There’s a period of time between purchasing the perfect wedding gown and unzipping the bag that holds said perfect wedding gown that is indescribable.
For those of you who know me, the fact that I’m admitting any of this is unfathomable. In fact, the fact that I’m doing the whole wedding thing is unfathomable. For those who don’t know me, it IS all unfathomable.
But definitely happening, so of course you’ll want to read all about it.
I’m admitting here that I had grave concerns that my dress would arrive (a) looking totally unlike what I remembered trying, (b) never, or (c) exactly as I had imagined in my dream three nights ago.
There I was, standing in my parent’s bathroom, poised to unzip the giant bag. As I begin opening it, billowing mounds of blood-red/black material fall out. The top half lace. The bottom half satin with wires poking out everywhere.
This dress is not quite like I remember trying on, I say to myself, as I lift it out of the bag. I slip the dress over my head and note that the top half is much too large for me, even with the bustier that makes everything, including my kneecaps, sit a bit higher. The wires scratch my legs, but hardly faze me.
It’s too short, I say aloud. The wires don’t annoy me; the above-my-ankles length does. I venture out of the bathroom to get a second opinion from my mom, holding the top half up as best I can. She’s standing out in the cornfield with the rest of my family, watching a storm brew.
Looks like there are going to be tornadoes, Mom says. Suddenly, twisters begin touching down. Do we run inside and jump into the crawl space under the house? Or at least move indoors? No. We decide it’s the perfect time for tornado-chasing! Off I sprint across the field—in my blood-red/black, wired gown, no less—to catch a tornado.
I awoke from that dream and immediately thought YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME. And then I thought BUT I DIDN’T EVEN EAT ANY WHEAT THINS BEFORE BED. (Turns out Wheat Thins give me weird, crazy dreams. Doesn’t matter what flavor.)
Anyway, the day after the dream, I received THE CALL from the bridal shop notifying me that my dress was in—a full week early! What’s a week? You ask. A week equals an entire year when you’re planning a wedding in 2.5 months. I manage to wait an entire day before speeding down to the store to pick up my gown.
So, in the mean time, I started wondering if the dress would live up to my standards. If I’d love it as much as I did the first time I tried it on. If I should’ve gone with white instead of ivory. If I’d be able to have it fitted exactly as I imagined. And then I thought ARE YOU KIDDING ME, JILL? YOU’RE BEING RIDICULOUS.
And, I was. I unzipped the bag to reveal a dress exactly as I remembered/pictured/wanted it. No blood-red blackness. No wires. Just perfection.
It was perfect. It is perfect. It will be perfect.
By the way, I double-checked its perfection just a few hours ago when I went to my first fitting. STILL perfect.
Thank goodness some dreams are no more than Wheat Thins-induced nightmares.