Cut to the night before the big shopping day and I am armed with post-its. I label the dress in question, "Nat HATES, I love. (Try on.)"
My Dad briefly came into the store at the beginning of the shopping excursion and THE dress was on a mannequin. He took one look at it and said he agreed with Nat. Further, he backed up his opinion saying it would make me look bottom heavy. Grandmere said nothing and my mom who loved the dress as well said we would try it anyway.
(Cut to my Mom running into somebody she knew mid-dress try-on. She was so happy to share her news as she hugged a previous co-worker. "That's my daughter," Mom said. "We know. We've been watching. She's beautiful," the lady replied. My mom was so cute. "That's the Mother of one of the boys from Good Charlotte," she told me after the woman had left.)
The consultant finally brought the dramatic dress in question. I put it on and happily paraded out and presented myself to the mirror and my kinswomen. "No," said Grandmere flatly. And she was right. It was just all wrong. And my Dad was right. I looked too big on the bottom and too small on the top. I wanted to love it so much. Even Mom had to agree, it just paled in comparison to some of the others. If I chose to live on cucumbers and water for the next several months, then maybe.
Really trying to wrap my brain around the fact that this one was not the dress...Perhaps in the proper size I pondered?