So a couple of posts ago I wrote about a wedding that, perhaps fortunately, had to be cancelled due to current circumstances, but which was probably doomed long before COVID19 scuppered it!! Still on the wedding theme, here are two pieces specifically on dresses…one responded to the prompt ‘Plunge’ and the other to ‘Fitted’. The former speaks to my guilty tv viewing pleasure and the latter is about the ordeal of making sure my own wedding dress (back in 1996!) fitted on the day…
Choosing the Right One
They sat in a silent row, my mum, my gran, my sisters and my best friend.
Boredom and irritation were beginning to show. They fidgeted and no longer laughed and joked, exchanging only hushed whispers.
The woman gave me a sympathetic look but carried on doing her job. She yanked and tweaked, pulling in and letting out where she needed to.
This time as I finally emerged, I could see their faces light up immediately. With the exception of my gran, they all beamed, and my mum discreetly wiped away a tear.
‘So, this is the eighth, and hopefully the last,’ I said, feeling confident.
‘Ah love that’s magnificent,’ said mum
‘Yes, yes!’ Exclaimed my sisters and best friend simultaneously.
‘Very nice, but you’ll need a plunge bra with it,’ said my gran.
We all laughed.
‘So, are you saying yes to the dress?’ asked the long-suffering bridal consultant.
A Dressmaker’s Challenge
Ours was a crazy whirlwind romance. A chance meeting in Berlin in March and a series of magical weekends in European cities in spring as he continued his travels. A long visit to South Africa in August clinched the deal. By October I had sold my apartment, quit my job and days later was in Johannesburg.
A year later we flew back to London to get married. I was one of few brides whose figures got fuller as her wedding day approached. The dress was cunningly designed to disguise my growing bump. It was hot in Johannesburg and I sweated as the seamstress pinned and tucked, making alterations here and there to make sure it fitted perfectly on the day.
