Contrary to what you might have heard, the Wedding of the Year ((c) every bloody news outlet in the entire world) is not that fancy-pants royal shindig next week. It’s mine.
Of course Wills, Kate, and the assembled throng of artistocrats and commoners alike may feel differently, but I have no interest whatsoever in the noble nuptials. And although my wedding isn’t until December, I’m getting prepared – regular readers may remember that I’ve already blogged about potential cake designs.
Today, it’s all about the dress. Or rather, it’s all about two dresses, prompted by this tale in the New York Times. Briefly, a bride-to-be buys her dream dress, and when she goes to pick it up from the store it’s covered in black fluff – the result of a cleaning mishap.
Instead of throwing their hands up in apology and compensating the bride outright, the store owners drag her to the small claims court. Although it works out OK in the end, it’s a stressful and distressing tale, and not entirely dissimilar to what I went through a couple of months ago – albeit with a swifter resolution, and significantly less legal action.
More than five years ago I had a near miss at getting married. Long story, ask me about it some other time, but I ended up with an absolutely beautiful, fairly expensive, and sadly unworn wedding dress. It looked like this, but all in gold. I wanted all red, but my mother vetoed it on the grounds that it would make me look like a whore in church. Thanks a bunch, mum.
The wedding never happened and the dress ended up in a wardrobe at my parents’ house, patiently waiting for my next Big Day. Happily, I got engaged again, and – having established that I could still just about squeeze into it – I put a big tick against “Dress” on my wedding to-do list, and thought no more about it (apart from trying to stay off the pies).
Then comes the twist. My parents suffered a horrific house fire last Autumn. Fortunately they were OK, the dogs were OK, and they didn’t lose everything. But my wedding dress got smoke damaged, and was sent off to the insurance company-approved cleaners for a spruce-up.
The dress never came back. Not because it was smoke-ravaged beyond saving, but because someone stood on it and tore it.
At first I was relatively sanguine. It’s just a dress, I thought. After all, it was bought for a wedding that didn’t happen. But as the days passed I felt more and more unhappy. Not just because it was My Wedding Dress – it was also My Rather Expensive Wedding Dress, and I’m currently pretty damn skint.
Unlike the poor NYT bride, in my case the cleaning company coughed up pretty quickly – presumably to reduce the chances of me going all Bridezilla on their ass. And instead of buying a Rather Expensive replacement dress, I bought a Very Cheap dress, and a Rather Expensive new bed. I figured that having a decent place to sleep was more conducive to a long and happy marriage than a fancy dress I’m only going to wear for one day…
What do you reckon? Have you ever had to buy a replacement dress for any occasion? And just how good does a new bed feel?