The Wedding, pt. mine
Well, tomorrow makes it one week from the wedding (see previous post if you haven't) that took me about as long as I was given notice of (about six months) to prepare for. Why? I was just the Bridesmaid. Yes, you read that right, THE Bridesmaid, only just me. So what the heck?
First off, I knew I'd have to turn into a real girl. (all woman here, don't fret!) But I'm not a typical, "I love all things pink and flowery and everything is just totally awesome or totally disgusting to the max!" -kinda ...girl. I do not like the color pink anywhere or on anything that is not alive, I very rarely "totally" anything and I don't enjoy maxing out on anything, either - everything in moderation.
Now, Bride and I went shopping for shoes to match her dress. We went to a mall. (Bride, btw, isn't exactly "girl" material either - she's less "girl" than I am.) Finding nothing, we hit dress stores, since ...I didn't have one yet. On the way out and feeling utterly (not totally) exhausted, she calls from the other side of a store I was leaving, holding up THE dress. We didn't have to have a fitting, we knew it was the only one. Black, strapless, to the floor with one ivory stripe to mark the waist, one to soften the top line. No ruffles, no frills. Simple and black.
When I say "to the floor," I suppose "totally" almost works as the descriptive, but we're actual beyond it. The dress was about three inches on the floor. This meant one of two things: 1) Tailoring or 2) Stilettos.
...Not being the "girl" that I suspect is perhaps hiding somewhere inside like Bukowski's blue bird, I wasn't going to stand for a tailor. Literally, I don't like to stand still while someone sticks pins and needles around where I can't see. The stilettos were on.
Highest heels I have in my current wardrobe (minus the new stilettos)? My combat boots. Yep - winter gear. She and I being the non-girls, she'd already given the okay for me to wear them. Too bad they're not four inches high...
Then she emails me, says, "Here's the bit part I want to you to say during the ceremony. Don't bother memorizing it, go ahead and read it straight off a card." (that I'll what? Keep hidden up my ankle?!) Oh, and that "we're having our hair done at the salon at 10a sharp." -Yet another "girly" thing I'd never done before.
No pressure. Just toss the men's jeans, knee-high sox, fuzzy shirt, flat shoes and pony tail and present yourself before a slew of highly-developed, world-travelled intellectuals. No biggie.
Just don't fall.
Don't forget those lines.
Smile!
And ACT HAPPY!
...I was happy, believe it or not. I couldn't breathe, couldn't walk, couldn't get my hair to stop tickling my shoulders. Couldn't stop shivering, (couldn't smoke), and I could not believe my eyes didn't betray me with tears by the time all was said and done. Between the event itself and the discomfort I put in to help create it, I was sure starting off I'd be balling by the end.
So it's been nearly a week and I'm finally beginning to feel like my regular self again. Minus, of course, the one good friend that I can't just call up anymore for her new-found home abroad.
Yep, I think it still shows. I really did just lose my best friend. She still likes me, hasn't written me off or anything, but I won't be hearing from her for a good lot of months.
She's happy and I know it.
I'm happy for her, too, and she knows that.
