A friend of mine in
England, whose granddaughter is getting married in November, recently sent me a
photo of the dresses the bridesmaids will be wearing – street-length black dresses with spaghetti straps.
“And each girl will carry a single red rose,” she added.
I studied the photo of
the dress and thought that for once in my life I
actually could picture the bridesmaids wearing it again after the wedding.
Times sure have
changed.
Over 50 years ago,
when I frequently was asked to be a bridesmaid, I swear the designers of
bridesmaids’ dresses were in competition to see who could come up with the most
hideous style – one that could make even the slimmest bridesmaid look like Moby
Dick’s mother.
Every time I arrived
at a bridal salon on the day the bride selected her attendants’ dresses, I
pretty much knew what was going to happen. She was guaranteed to choose the
gaudiest and most expensive gown in the store and then say to us, so we
wouldn’t feel so bad about spending a month’s salary on it, “And after the
wedding, you can have the gown cut to knee-length and wear it again!”
All I can say is aside
from a party hosted by the Ringling Brothers, there was no place on earth I ever
would have worn any of those gowns again.
To make matters even
worse, back then, unlike today, bridesmaids also were expected to wear
headpieces to match their gowns. And most of those headpieces featured an
entire flower garden and maybe even some topiary accents on them.
But if I had to pick
the gown I was the least likely to ever wear again, one in particular
immediately springs to mind. It was for my friend Linda’s wedding back in the
mid-1970s.
When Linda asked me to
be one of her four bridesmaids, she told me she’d already picked out “the most
beautiful gowns imaginable” for us to wear. So I was eager to see the unveiling
of this masterpiece.
The night we gathered
at the bridal salon, I found myself feeling optimistic that, for the first
time, I might not want to run away screaming when I saw my gown.
Linda’s smile was so
wide, I was afraid she might pull a facial muscle as the saleslady, carrying
the gown, made her grand entrance into the room.
“Here it is, girls!”
Linda said. “Isn’t it fantastic?”
At first, I thought
the gown had to be a joke. I even glanced around the room, positive I’d
discover a camera secretly recording our reactions. The gown looked as if it
had been stolen directly from Scarlett O’Hara’s closet. The skirt was so
big, I was pretty sure if I jumped off a cliff while wearing it, I’d float
gently to the ground. And it was covered with layers – and more layers – of
yellow ruffles. I rolled my eyes, thinking the only things the dress was
missing to complete the look were a wide-brimmed hat and a parasol.
As if reading my mind, Linda gushed, “Well? Isn’t it
gorgeous? And it comes with a beautiful matching parasol
and hat! You’re all going to look like lovely southern belles!”
I wanted to shout at
her, “But we’re northerners, in New England! Have mercy on us, will
you?”
Instead, I smiled
tightly and kept silent.
When I studied my reflection in the mirror during the gown-fitting appointment a few weeks later, I was too embarrassed to come out of the dressing room. I looked like a giant cupcake decorated with yellow frosting. The gown also added so many inches to my already abundant hips, I felt as if I should be wearing one of those “wide load” signs on the back of it.
One of my friends,
who’d accompanied me to the fitting, appeared to be struggling not to burst out
laughing when I finally emerged from the dressing room.
“Don’t ride a bike
while wearing that thing!” she said, unable to control her laughter any longer.
“People might think you’re a runaway parade float!”
The only thing I was
grateful for was that Linda wasn’t going to make us wear ruffled pantaloons
underneath the gowns. 
A nearly exact facsimile
of the gown
At least I prayed she wasn't...
A wide-brimmed hat
edged with a big yellow ruffle and yellow velvet ribbons to tie under the chin,
along with a matching ruffled parasol, completed the ensemble. When I saw myself
for the first time in the entire outfit, I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
I looked just like Little Bo Peep…or in my case, Jumbo Bo Peep.
On the big day, as the moment approached when we bridesmaids were about to walk down the aisle, I suppressed the urge to run and hide, mainly because there was nowhere I could hide in a dress that big. I couldn’t even fit through the restroom door.
And for that reason, I still blame the gown for nearly causing me to develop kidney stones, from being unable to relieve my bladder all day.
I also suspect that the wedding crashers who were spotted at the reception actually
sneaked in underneath our bridesmaids’ gowns without us realizing it.
Still, I must confess I actually did consider using that gown again...as a protective cover for my husband’s
Volkswagen Beetle.
# # #
Sally Breslin is an award-winning syndicated humor columnist who has written regularly for newspapers and magazines all of her adult life. She is the author of several novels in a variety of genres, from humor and romance to science-fiction. Contact her at: sillysally@att.net.
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