My Ending

My mother, godmother, grandmother, bridesmaid and I went on a dress mission last weekend. We trouped into the bridal shop and took up every chair while I tried on more dresses in one day than I've ever donned in my life.

As a newbie to dress wearing, I needed extra help actually getting into the contraptions. After loudly exclaiming that one of my favorite choices wouldn't fit over my a$$, I learned that in fancy bridal shops, we don't say a$$. We refer to that part of the body as an "ending." As in "Ohh! That dress makes your ending look so tiny!" or "No, the lace on that one is too clingy over your ending."

We suffered through corporate incompetency in David's Bridal, the Wal-Mart of wedding gowns, and my mother even managed to illegally photograph me in a few of the dresses. The salesperson with the weepy sores on her bosom was easily duped into leaving the room to find headpieces and Nance whipped out the camera phone. I don't feel ready to share photos of myself in wedding dresses yes, though. I'm just not ready.

I do think we found a winner. Obviously, it was the very first dress I tried on. It's strapless (a good cut for "strong" shoulders) and white with beads at the top, to draw the eye away from my ending and toward my ample bosom. The a-line skirt is made of flowy material and it only has a small train--perfect for an outside wedding. I could probably make an entire other dress out of the material they'll have to trim off to make it short enough for me. The best part is that I won't have to wear a slip with crinoline and I will be able to use the bathroom all by myself. That's a huge plus for me, because every other wedding I've been in has involved me under a frilly skirt with some toilet paper aimed toward someone else's ending.