I’d been to see the dress numerous times. Decision day loomed.
One unexpected plus point was that some alterations I wanted meant the dress would be cheaper. Yes, that’s right. Cheaper. An alien word flying in the face of the matrimonial juggernaut. Music to my fiance’s wedding-weary ears.
So it was on a Monday afternoon in claustrophobic central London that I trotted back to the wedding shop. My choice of the word ‘trotted’ is not accidental. To try and get my feet used to shoes for the big day (still 13 months away), I’d crammed my tootsies into a towering pair of heels Naomi Campbell would have struggled with. In fact I’m lucky I didn’t end up recreating her infamous catwalk fall in the middle of Oxford Street. Greeted with an array of horns, glares from the disinterested throngs and a disgruntled cabbie rolling down his window and bellowing ‘get orf the bleedin’ road love’.
Tottering into the shop, I explained I’d like to try the dress on again. No problem. I paraded around. Then it was upon me. D-day.
Emotional sigh and nervous smile-”I’ll order it”.
Before I could blink, a glass of fizz appeared in my hand and I was ushered to a desk, behind which sat a grinning manager and a mountain of paperwork.
As it turned out, although part of the dress was cheaper, further changes, extra material and other things I wasn’t really listening to hiked the price back up (cue aforementioned symphony in fiance’s ears fading out to the sole wail of a single violin…)
I signed things, lots of things, nodded my head pretending to understand things, smiled with raised eyebrows, signed more things. Deal done.
As I left the shop, something strange happened. I couldn’t see properly. Walking was also difficult (okay, yes, in part, due to the heels). My heart was racing. I had just bought my wedding dress. But what if I hate it when I see it again? Should I have tried it on more? Should the sparkles have stayed? Should that bit come off and that bit go on?
So much for battling bridezilla. I’m the beast of bridezilla.