One of the worst things you can do to me is to invite me somewhere where it is implied that I’ve got to dress up. On most days I get away with jeans and t-shirts. I wear dresses for ventilation and the nicest pair of shoes I own are a pair of platform sandals that I can barely walk in. For these reasons I avoid wedding showers, baby showers and all girl-only functions (unless it’s at a bar). Weddings are my biggest hurdle because I love cake and in order to get it, I need to attend, and it’s always a given that Vans and a t-shirt are not approved apparel.
So, I panic shop. The reason I ended up with the platform sandals is because of a wedding in August, 2019. In preparation for the cake, I went to the store and bought a long rose-colored wrap dress. On the hanger it was beautiful, so I tried it on. The smaller size seemed to fit while the bigger size felt comfortable. Once I figured out how to wrap the damn thing around my body, I noticed it was about six inches too long, everywhere.
My solution was to buy platform sandals, big mistake. I spent the entire evening sitting down because if I tried to walk my ankles gave way. I also sweated out almost an entire days’ worth of water because all the extra fabric it took to make a stupid wrap dress. I managed to buy the only dress that keeps the heat in.
Thanks to the pandemic, I managed to avoid all formal wear for over a year. I was on a jeans and t-shirt easy street. I had even discovered the joys of elastic waist band pants.
My good time ended when I was invited to a banquet at a resort. “Banquet at a resort” implies an outfit that doesn’t involve stretch pants and socks with tacos on them. Naturally I panicked and what I did next was out of sheer desperation. I took my husband Zach to the department store and let him help me pick out a dress. The first one he handed me was bright green and had a neckline that plunged part way to my belly button. I tried it on to humor him and realized that this dress had way too much ventilation.
As I hung my body partially out of the dressing room, he tried to hand me a dress that was so short it had built in underwear (or maybe it was a onesie, I’m not sure) and that’s when the nice lady in the dress department intervened. I’m not sure how or why, but I ended up with a modest sleeveless dress the color of a green crayon. I looked at the ugly little thing when I got home and realized I could not wear it and ran out the next day and bought a pair of slacks. A pair of slacks! My sister once said to me that if her job made her wear slacks she’d quit and I kind of agree.
In the end I ditched the slacks and pulled myself together. I ended up finding the right dress within walking distance from my house and with it came styling advice for the rest of me. I combed my hair the best I could, wore my flashiest earrings and went to the damn banquet.
Of course, the first person I saw walking into the ballroom was wearing shorts, followed by his wife who was wearing golf shoes and a visor. If it wasn’t for the fancy cheese and cloth napkins, I would have flung my shoes off. I cheered up when I saw all the little, tiny hors d’oeuvres but that feeling didn’t last when I found out there wasn’t any cake. A girl who struggled as hard as I did deserved a piece of cake.