Showing posts with label Dress shopping. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Dress shopping. Show all posts
Thursday, November 6, 2014
Guesting over at Ten to Twenty Parenting
Remember that Homecoming dress nightmare from a few years back? That story is up on Ten to Twenty Parenting! Please go over and read the story and feel free to leave a comment. It may just be new to you!
Tuesday, September 30, 2014
Remember when I almost died in a Goodwill dressing room?
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| Read about how I nearly died! |
Remember back before I went to the blogging conference and I got stuck in a dress and I thought I was gonna die? No? Well you can read about it here at the Huffington Post's Comedy page!
Tuesday, February 4, 2014
Somebody save me from myself
I can't be the only one that this has happened to. Please tell me I'm not alone. Please?
It was a beautiful Saturday afternoon in the fall, and I went out for a nice, relaxing day of shopping. No husband, no kids, just me and my credit card. Ahhhh, so nice to get out and do something nice for me. I don't have to pick anything up for anyone else, I can be selfish and pick out a few nice things just for myself. Husband had plenty of socks and under-thingies, kids had been out shopping the week before and I didn't have to take out a second mortgage on the house, so I did what any red-blooded American mom would do. I went shopping. For myself.
I strolled around the store, browsing. Such pretty things on the racks. I pulled out a few nice looking blouses, a few pairs of pants and this adorable dress that would've been perfect for my nephew's wedding the following month. I took my haul into the dressing room, dropped trou and began trying things on.
And that's when the misery started.
The pants were too tight. When the hell did that happen?? Shopping by yourself is great, don't get me wrong, but it's also nice to have a minion around in such cases where you love the pants but hate the fit and need another pair (in a goddamn bigger size). So I took them off and hung them up and then put them on the "sorry clothes, you're not coming home with me today" hook. It's a sad hook, really.
After being disgusted by the next several pieces I tried on, and putting them all on the 'No effing way' hook, I got to the dress. It was adorable. It was a tea-length, long-sleeve number that you pulled over your head and zipped up the back. It was somewhat sheer at the top but not in a tasteless, 'leave nothing to the imagination, you look like a two-bit hooker' sheer. Just above the hooters. From the hooters down it was dark green velvet with shimmery gold thingies woven into the fabric. So pretty. I took it off the hanger, unzipped it and put that bad boy right over my head and pulled it down.
With only a little bit of a struggle.
I was able to zip it up about halfway because I don't have extra long monkey arms. And when I looked at myself in the mirror, in this adorable dress, I frowned. It looked so much prettier on the hanger.
There was a quote from a comedian that my husband and I will use sometimes:
Woman: "This doesn't look like much on the hanger but it looks so much better on"
Man: "On what? On fire?"
Sadly, I wasn't going to buy that dress that day, because it just wasn't working for me. So I moved my non-monkey arms to the back and attempted to unzip it. And it got stuck. That's when panic started to creep up on my. I began to sweat. Then I began talking to myself. "Oh God no, don't start sweating, dumbass, you'll NEVER get it off if your body's tacky with sweat." And yes, it was out loud. That's how I roll. Sweaty and chatty in a dressing room, trapped in a dress.
When you're sweaty and wearing something tight, then you try to take off that tight thing, that tight thing doesn't want to work its way off of sweaty skin. It wants to stay on you. It mocks you. It laughs at you. It says "Sorry fat ass, you're not getting rid of me that easily. This is fun!" The more I moved, the stronger the hold the dress had on me. I tried to work my arms out of the sleeves but the dress was having none of it. My arms were stuck in something equivalent to Chinese finger traps.
The dress was not letting me go. I was destined to be stuck in this green velvet dress for the rest of my life. I guess if you think about it, I'd save money on new clothes. Oh what the hell was I thinking, I had to get out of that dress and quick!
It was then that I heard someone entering the dressing room. And I did what any mature, grown woman would do. I shouted "Can you help me????" at the top of my lungs. I said "I swear to God I'm not some psychopath pervert, but the zipper is stuck and I can't get out of my dress!" Thank goodness the lady didn't turn and run out of the dressing room and call the cops. Instead, I opened the door and turned my back to her and she was able to release me from the jaws of death. (shut up, that's what it felt like at the time). I thanked her profusely and may have even offered my kids' babysitting services, I didn't care, I was just thrilled to be free from the monster.
I sat down for a few minutes to allow my sweaty body to dry off a bit and was finally able to get the dress over my head and pull my arms out of the sleeves. I hung the dress back on the hanger, still a little damp from my sweat and put it on the 'I wouldn't buy you if you were the last dress on the planet' hook. I put my clothes back on, gave the dress the finger and headed out of the store.
Then I went to Dairy Queen for some Blizzard therapy.
It was a beautiful Saturday afternoon in the fall, and I went out for a nice, relaxing day of shopping. No husband, no kids, just me and my credit card. Ahhhh, so nice to get out and do something nice for me. I don't have to pick anything up for anyone else, I can be selfish and pick out a few nice things just for myself. Husband had plenty of socks and under-thingies, kids had been out shopping the week before and I didn't have to take out a second mortgage on the house, so I did what any red-blooded American mom would do. I went shopping. For myself.
I strolled around the store, browsing. Such pretty things on the racks. I pulled out a few nice looking blouses, a few pairs of pants and this adorable dress that would've been perfect for my nephew's wedding the following month. I took my haul into the dressing room, dropped trou and began trying things on.
And that's when the misery started.
The pants were too tight. When the hell did that happen?? Shopping by yourself is great, don't get me wrong, but it's also nice to have a minion around in such cases where you love the pants but hate the fit and need another pair (in a goddamn bigger size). So I took them off and hung them up and then put them on the "sorry clothes, you're not coming home with me today" hook. It's a sad hook, really.
After being disgusted by the next several pieces I tried on, and putting them all on the 'No effing way' hook, I got to the dress. It was adorable. It was a tea-length, long-sleeve number that you pulled over your head and zipped up the back. It was somewhat sheer at the top but not in a tasteless, 'leave nothing to the imagination, you look like a two-bit hooker' sheer. Just above the hooters. From the hooters down it was dark green velvet with shimmery gold thingies woven into the fabric. So pretty. I took it off the hanger, unzipped it and put that bad boy right over my head and pulled it down.
With only a little bit of a struggle.
I was able to zip it up about halfway because I don't have extra long monkey arms. And when I looked at myself in the mirror, in this adorable dress, I frowned. It looked so much prettier on the hanger.
There was a quote from a comedian that my husband and I will use sometimes:
Woman: "This doesn't look like much on the hanger but it looks so much better on"
Man: "On what? On fire?"
Sadly, I wasn't going to buy that dress that day, because it just wasn't working for me. So I moved my non-monkey arms to the back and attempted to unzip it. And it got stuck. That's when panic started to creep up on my. I began to sweat. Then I began talking to myself. "Oh God no, don't start sweating, dumbass, you'll NEVER get it off if your body's tacky with sweat." And yes, it was out loud. That's how I roll. Sweaty and chatty in a dressing room, trapped in a dress.
When you're sweaty and wearing something tight, then you try to take off that tight thing, that tight thing doesn't want to work its way off of sweaty skin. It wants to stay on you. It mocks you. It laughs at you. It says "Sorry fat ass, you're not getting rid of me that easily. This is fun!" The more I moved, the stronger the hold the dress had on me. I tried to work my arms out of the sleeves but the dress was having none of it. My arms were stuck in something equivalent to Chinese finger traps.
 | ||
| Photo courtesy: OrientalTrading.com |
It was then that I heard someone entering the dressing room. And I did what any mature, grown woman would do. I shouted "Can you help me????" at the top of my lungs. I said "I swear to God I'm not some psychopath pervert, but the zipper is stuck and I can't get out of my dress!" Thank goodness the lady didn't turn and run out of the dressing room and call the cops. Instead, I opened the door and turned my back to her and she was able to release me from the jaws of death. (shut up, that's what it felt like at the time). I thanked her profusely and may have even offered my kids' babysitting services, I didn't care, I was just thrilled to be free from the monster.
I sat down for a few minutes to allow my sweaty body to dry off a bit and was finally able to get the dress over my head and pull my arms out of the sleeves. I hung the dress back on the hanger, still a little damp from my sweat and put it on the 'I wouldn't buy you if you were the last dress on the planet' hook. I put my clothes back on, gave the dress the finger and headed out of the store.
Then I went to Dairy Queen for some Blizzard therapy.
Monday, September 24, 2012
Homecoming Dress (a Mother's Nightmare)
I love 15. I truly do. And I trust her to make good choices as she grows. She's a great kid, she's smart, she's funny as hell, she's drop dead gorgeous and to paraphrase her favorite boy band, One Delusion (or something like that) she doesn't know she's beautiful. (here's where I wait for her to read and correct me)
Anyway, that being said, she went shopping on Friday night with two girlfriends for dresses for Homecoming which is next Saturday. I had plans with the moms in my 'hood, and her dad was working, so one of the girls' moms took them out to the mall. 15 had said that this mom would be fine with paying for a dress for 15 if I wanted her to, and I could just pay her back. While it was a really nice and very generous offer, I politely declined, telling 15 that if she did find a dress, put it aside or ask them to hold it and I would take her back up Saturday and buy it. OR she could take her own birthday money and use it to buy a dress. She took her money and off they went.
Fast forward to about 8:00 that night. I was well into a bottle of wine, having fun with the moms, playing Pokeno and enjoying a moms night out. 15 sent me a picture text, but nothing came through. I texted her back and she said "Did you see it?" Seeing nothing but a big white screen on my phone I texted back that I didn't see it. So she called me and told me that she had tried on this 'really pretty cream colored dress and it was only $34 and she could buy it herself and it was really pretty and can I get it?' After a little more discussion, and knowing that it would save me the trouble of driving up the next day to buy it, I agreed. She of course gave me the standard: "Thank you! I love you mommy!" schpeal and hung up. Several minutes later, the picture came through. I nearly died.
While I do have a foul mouth at times, I'm not a big proponent of posting pictures of scantily clad women on my blog. And ESPECIALLY not pictures of those to whom I've given birth. So you can imagine my shock and awe when I saw that this dress looked like, in my husband's words: a scrunchy. It WAS in fact cream colored, flesh colored to be more precise. Strapless. Form fitting (read: TIGHT) and about 6 inches too short. This was the conversation, verbatim that I had with 15 after the picture came through and I had sufficiently lost my mind:
Me: Did you already buy it?
4 seconds go by without a reply
Me: DID YOU ALREADY BUY IT???????
15: Yes I did
Me: Save the receipt, don't dare take the tags off!!!
I got home from moms night out and when I went into 15's room she was already asleep. I looked at the dress hanging innocently in her closet and threw up. This thing looked like an ace bandage, only smaller. If I let her wear this dress this year, next year's dress would very likely be down to bandaids on her nips and possibly a fig leaf (optional, I'm sure) Do you know WHY this dress was only $34 at Macy's??? Because even the hookers knew it was too small and too tight.
Don't go getting all up in my grill about my comparison of my 15 year old to a hooker, because that's not what I'm saying at all. I'm saying her choice of homecoming dresses just needed some guidance. When I asked if her friend's mom had seen the dress, she replied that no, the mom had not. Saturday 15 had an away cross country met and then we had a houseful of kids Saturday evening, so I never actually got to talk with her about her clothing choices. However, Sunday morning, we discussed it. Or more accurately, I asked her to put the dress on so that I could see it in person. Maybe the picture didn't do it justice. Maybe it looked better on her in person. Maybe my dogs would develop the ability to calculate nuclear physics too.
When she came downstairs with this dress on, my jaw hit the floor. Yes, she's drop dead gorgeous. Yes, she has a great figure. But NO way in HELL was she wearing this rubber band to Homecoming. So I explained in my most soothing, caring, loving mom voice that she is a beautiful girl but that dress sends the wrong message. I know she's a decent kid, I know she's got morals and isn't loose or trampy, but that dress says otherwise. Yes, all of her friends know her and know she's not a tramp but what about those who DON'T know her? Will they be quick to judge? And while I do teach my kids that it doesn't matter what others think of you, as long as you know in your heart that you're a good person, I had to be a hypocrite this one time and rule a big HELL NO to this particular item of clothing. So sue me.
So Sunday afternoon, 15, her bestie M, hubby and I headed back up to Macy's to return the scrunchy. We then went to every single store in the mall in search of a more appropriate dress for homecoming. And we came up completely empty handed. Deb, Charlotte Russe, Penney's, you name it we searched it and found nothing that 15 liked. Leaving the mall, I was sweating, my heart was pounding, and I'm thinking, great now she's going to have to wear last year's dress again and she'll be in therapy for years and write a tell-all book about what a rotten and judgemental mother I am. But there was one option, and while I wasn't IN LOVE with it, it WAS an option.
David's Bridal. There was one right across from the mall and I thought, other than an assload of cash, what have we got to lose by taking a look. Our lovely bridal shopping consultant, Fey, picked a bunch of pretty dresses for 15 to try on. And BAM! After an hour and 10 minutes and 42 dresses, we had a winner. It is a really gorgeous royal blue, somewhat form-fitting but not hookerish dress. The price was marked down from $99 to $59. Okay I can live with $59. Except that it was a scad too loose at the top and 15's girls would be making surprise appearances all night if we didn't get it altered. So Fey took us back to alterations where we met the lovely Michelle, who was sweet and kind and told us that the alterations would be $50, PLUS $15 because of the extra material that had to be cut off the top of the dress. Oh and PLUS $25 because it was a rush job (alterations usually allow for 2 weeks, we only had one week, so BAM, another $25). I must admit that the dress is beautiful, 15 is a knock out in it, and it covers more of her body than the damn paper towel that we returned to Macy's, so I said 'Okay, let's do it' which got the standard "Thank you mommy, I love you" from 15.
Last surprise. When we finally made it to the register to pay, Michelle rang up the alterations ($90) and when she scanned the price tag for the dress, it came up $29 NOT $59. BONUS! So the alterations were 3 times the price of the dress. But the dress, all told, came to $127, and to me, that's well worth the cost of having 15's girls and her hoo haa covered up. I'll put up a picture on the day of the dance.
Anyway, that being said, she went shopping on Friday night with two girlfriends for dresses for Homecoming which is next Saturday. I had plans with the moms in my 'hood, and her dad was working, so one of the girls' moms took them out to the mall. 15 had said that this mom would be fine with paying for a dress for 15 if I wanted her to, and I could just pay her back. While it was a really nice and very generous offer, I politely declined, telling 15 that if she did find a dress, put it aside or ask them to hold it and I would take her back up Saturday and buy it. OR she could take her own birthday money and use it to buy a dress. She took her money and off they went.
Fast forward to about 8:00 that night. I was well into a bottle of wine, having fun with the moms, playing Pokeno and enjoying a moms night out. 15 sent me a picture text, but nothing came through. I texted her back and she said "Did you see it?" Seeing nothing but a big white screen on my phone I texted back that I didn't see it. So she called me and told me that she had tried on this 'really pretty cream colored dress and it was only $34 and she could buy it herself and it was really pretty and can I get it?' After a little more discussion, and knowing that it would save me the trouble of driving up the next day to buy it, I agreed. She of course gave me the standard: "Thank you! I love you mommy!" schpeal and hung up. Several minutes later, the picture came through. I nearly died.
While I do have a foul mouth at times, I'm not a big proponent of posting pictures of scantily clad women on my blog. And ESPECIALLY not pictures of those to whom I've given birth. So you can imagine my shock and awe when I saw that this dress looked like, in my husband's words: a scrunchy. It WAS in fact cream colored, flesh colored to be more precise. Strapless. Form fitting (read: TIGHT) and about 6 inches too short. This was the conversation, verbatim that I had with 15 after the picture came through and I had sufficiently lost my mind:
Me: Did you already buy it?
4 seconds go by without a reply
Me: DID YOU ALREADY BUY IT???????
15: Yes I did
Me: Save the receipt, don't dare take the tags off!!!
I got home from moms night out and when I went into 15's room she was already asleep. I looked at the dress hanging innocently in her closet and threw up. This thing looked like an ace bandage, only smaller. If I let her wear this dress this year, next year's dress would very likely be down to bandaids on her nips and possibly a fig leaf (optional, I'm sure) Do you know WHY this dress was only $34 at Macy's??? Because even the hookers knew it was too small and too tight.
Don't go getting all up in my grill about my comparison of my 15 year old to a hooker, because that's not what I'm saying at all. I'm saying her choice of homecoming dresses just needed some guidance. When I asked if her friend's mom had seen the dress, she replied that no, the mom had not. Saturday 15 had an away cross country met and then we had a houseful of kids Saturday evening, so I never actually got to talk with her about her clothing choices. However, Sunday morning, we discussed it. Or more accurately, I asked her to put the dress on so that I could see it in person. Maybe the picture didn't do it justice. Maybe it looked better on her in person. Maybe my dogs would develop the ability to calculate nuclear physics too.
When she came downstairs with this dress on, my jaw hit the floor. Yes, she's drop dead gorgeous. Yes, she has a great figure. But NO way in HELL was she wearing this rubber band to Homecoming. So I explained in my most soothing, caring, loving mom voice that she is a beautiful girl but that dress sends the wrong message. I know she's a decent kid, I know she's got morals and isn't loose or trampy, but that dress says otherwise. Yes, all of her friends know her and know she's not a tramp but what about those who DON'T know her? Will they be quick to judge? And while I do teach my kids that it doesn't matter what others think of you, as long as you know in your heart that you're a good person, I had to be a hypocrite this one time and rule a big HELL NO to this particular item of clothing. So sue me.
So Sunday afternoon, 15, her bestie M, hubby and I headed back up to Macy's to return the scrunchy. We then went to every single store in the mall in search of a more appropriate dress for homecoming. And we came up completely empty handed. Deb, Charlotte Russe, Penney's, you name it we searched it and found nothing that 15 liked. Leaving the mall, I was sweating, my heart was pounding, and I'm thinking, great now she's going to have to wear last year's dress again and she'll be in therapy for years and write a tell-all book about what a rotten and judgemental mother I am. But there was one option, and while I wasn't IN LOVE with it, it WAS an option.
David's Bridal. There was one right across from the mall and I thought, other than an assload of cash, what have we got to lose by taking a look. Our lovely bridal shopping consultant, Fey, picked a bunch of pretty dresses for 15 to try on. And BAM! After an hour and 10 minutes and 42 dresses, we had a winner. It is a really gorgeous royal blue, somewhat form-fitting but not hookerish dress. The price was marked down from $99 to $59. Okay I can live with $59. Except that it was a scad too loose at the top and 15's girls would be making surprise appearances all night if we didn't get it altered. So Fey took us back to alterations where we met the lovely Michelle, who was sweet and kind and told us that the alterations would be $50, PLUS $15 because of the extra material that had to be cut off the top of the dress. Oh and PLUS $25 because it was a rush job (alterations usually allow for 2 weeks, we only had one week, so BAM, another $25). I must admit that the dress is beautiful, 15 is a knock out in it, and it covers more of her body than the damn paper towel that we returned to Macy's, so I said 'Okay, let's do it' which got the standard "Thank you mommy, I love you" from 15.
Last surprise. When we finally made it to the register to pay, Michelle rang up the alterations ($90) and when she scanned the price tag for the dress, it came up $29 NOT $59. BONUS! So the alterations were 3 times the price of the dress. But the dress, all told, came to $127, and to me, that's well worth the cost of having 15's girls and her hoo haa covered up. I'll put up a picture on the day of the dance.
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