It’s funny, in retrospect, how very little I cared about most of the details of my own wedding. I just wanted to marry J, you know? I cared about my dress, obviously, and—much to the poorly-hidden chagrin of certain family members—having a bouquet composed solely of dark, burgundy-colored roses. That was…pretty much it.
It’s funny to me, therefore, that with my brother’s wedding rapidly approaching (this weekend!) I find myself BOGGED THE HELL DOWN with details. It’s not that I WANT to care, but, well, there were toddler-sized tuxedos to find, and jewelry to procure, and THE TINY BARRETTES, WON’T SOMEONE THINK OF THE TINY BARRETTES? And the packing lists, and remembering toys for the kids, and clothes to change into afterward, and AHHHHHHH.
I’ve been sucked into some sort of Obsessive Preparation Wormhole, which is not necessarily entirely a bad thing, as there have definitely been some memorable moments. Take, for instance, the portion of the list I’ve tackled so far this week:
1. "Research the Earring Issue"
Lo received a gorgeous pair of baby earrings from my in-laws for her birthday, and so I decided the wedding would be a perfect time to get over my crippling fear of changing her starter earrings (which she’s worn since her initial ear piercing, last October), and put those bad boys in. Yeah, well, as it turns out? “Starter” is apparently code for “these fuckers ain’t budging, EVER.” And while I’d love to have the option of occasionally changing her earrings, I’m loath to maim her baby ears in the process. I’ve tried four times now to get them out, but it’s not working, and I honestly feel like I’m defusing a bomb with each attempt, because she has this charming habit of whipping her head around like a Slayer fan, SANS WARNING, while I'm doing so. Babies, man.
At a complete loss, I added the above item to my ever-growing list of stuff to do, and went a’Googling in order to see if there was a quick solution for removing starter earrings. (Spoiler alert: no.) While I was unsuccessful in that endeavor, my search did bring me to numerous crazy message boards, where a surprising amount of people made impassioned statements to the effect that parents who pierce their kids’ ears are essentially guilty of child abuse. This really only wants to make me pierce her navel, I’M SORRY.
(Obviously, if you can help my clueless ass, I’d be forever grateful. Should I try…olive oil? Dish soap? Prayer? WHAT?)
2. "Figure Out Hairstyle for Wedding"
The dress I’ll be wearing to the wedding has a lot of flowy elements to it, so I figured loose, beachy hair would be the way to go. Again, Google figured prominently in my research, which led me to two notable things:
A. It seems that many people take “beachy” quite literally, and interpret the term by PLACING STARFISH IN THEIR HAIR. I’m not talking about a starfish clip, or like, some cute tiny pin in the shape of one. I’m talking a big-ass, honking, actual dried starfish, as large as a regulation baseball, if not bigger.
B. Somehow, typing my query about beachy wedding hairstyles brought me to Yahoo Answers, which is a veritable treasure trove of hilarity. As I learned, there’s a “related questions” field on the bottom of each page, and dude. Duuuuude. A sampling:
“Which item from the ‘As Seen on TV’ section of Walgreens would make a good wedding present?”
“How can I get married online?”
“I told my fiancé marrying him would be a mistake. Now what?”
“Can you ‘write off’ wedding gifts like ‘contributions’?”
“I am 14 my bf is 18….can I marry him?”
(Speaking of hair, I'm featured in a Hair Share post on Hair Thursday. Check it out, and answer for yourself the --unasked--question of why I do not do more video posts.)
3. "Get Strapless Bra"
As I mentioned in my last post, the dress I’m wearing necessitated the purchase of a really good strapless bra. As such, many people suggested simply going to a dedicated bra store and getting a proper fitting. Which, you know, makes a remarkable amount of sense. WELL. I did just that, and now, so as not to offend any of my gentlemen readers, I’ll use the innocuous (and sports-related!) term “gonzagas” in telling the forthcoming tale. As in, “Hey, get a load of those gonzagas.”
I headed to a Very Prominent Bra Store to kick off my search. I asked for some assistance, and the bra…technician (?) told me to follow her into a fitting room. I figured she’d whip out a tape measure or something, and measure me over my shirt, but no, she told me to take off my shirt and bra. There was NO TAPE MEASURE. She simply…eyeballed the area, and then went off to find some suitable bras, while I stood there, recovering in shock. In retrospect, I guess I should have prepared a bit more for the experience, since everything I know about bra fittings is gleaned from reading Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret.
None of those bras that she returned with fit, so she called in another, more senior consultant so they could figure out what the problem was. Together, they stared at me some more, and the second one got All Up In My Gonzagas. I mean, at least get me some Mardi Gras beads, ladies.
They determined that I was a 28C. Or a 30C. I mention this only because THAT IS NOT EVEN A REAL SIZE THAT EXISTS IN THE WORLD. I’ve come to suspect that bra stores make their market off of the old “most women are wearing the wrong size braaaaaaa!” chestnut, and the attendant shock factor of telling a lifelong 32B that she’s actually a 46AAA.093*$, or something. I’M ON TO YOU PEOPLE.
They made me, like, lean into the bras they brought me, and manhandled me more than the most overzealous lactation consultant (trust me, I know of which I speak), and all the while I stood there with the Jasper Cullen Mask of Discomfort and Fear plastered across my face. Happy place. HAPPY PLACE.
After all that, they had nothing that fit my (APPARENTLY FREAK-SIZED) chest, and so, I…walked out, pretended the entire incident never happened, went to Victoria’s Secret, and picked up this bra (as recommended by Bethlaws06, Green is the New Dots and one anonymous reader)...
...In my regular size.
4. "Find Man Carrying Hand Saw on Public Transportation"
Okay, that wasn't actually on my list, but this totally happened today. And no, I do not have a picture, because he was a man carrying a handsaw (albeit in a plastic bag) on public transportation.
(I'm finally....finalizing the next installment of "Ask A Jew"...if there's anything else you'd like to
see addressed, just let me know!)