A week or so ago I received an email from my bridesmaid colleague stating that she had ordered her bridesmaid dress and that I should probably get a move on if I want mine altered in time for the big day. Grudgingly I dug out the old tape measure and did a quick 1, 2, 3 of bust, waist and hips. Balking slightly at quite how large they sound when in centimetres I called the wedding shop and prepared to put in my order. Now, I am not by any means skinny and I did put on a fair bit of weight, about a stone in fact, whilst I was in Australia (I blame homesickness comfort eating and my insatiable sweet tooth); but normally for a dress I would fit in about a UK size 12 so imagine my shame, disgust and outrage when the helpful and slightly baffled shop lady told me that I would have to order a size 18!! She clearly sensed my misery when she suggested that perhaps I would like to pop into the shop and have her measure me ‘properly’ (clearly I can’t be trusted with something so complex as a tape measure!) I reluctantly agreed and made an appointment for the following Monday.
I can, it turns out, use a tape measure effectively after all, those five years spent at university clearly paid off! Triumphantly I pointed out that those were the same measurements that I had given over the phone not realising that in fact that meant that I was indeed the dreaded size 18. The kind lady, still slightly baffled, pointed out that when ordering a dress order the dress in the size that fits your largest sized part so in my case although my bust is only a mere size 12, I have a size 18 waist and so the dress must be ordered in a size 18. I just don’t understand how, in the short space between my bust and my waist, and it is short I am only 5ft 2inches tall; I can jump up three whole dress sizes. It just doesn’t make sense. Clearly there is a conspiracy amongst bridesmaid dress makers to make bridesmaids feel rubbish and brides feel smug and skinny. All in all it’s very upsetting for a body-conscious weight obsessed permanent dieter. Contrary to all strong urges I didn’t give any creative suggestions as to where the dress could be shoved nor did I run to the hills screaming at the top of my lungs, I didn’t even scarper to the nearest airport and jump on the first available flight to a far flung destination. No, I sucked it up and dutifully handed over my credit card only flinching once or twice when the poor woman wrote out the receipt...perhaps I am developing a mature sense of inner poise, it is only a number after all...nah I went home and, rather counter productively, drowned the inner poise in half a box of Celebrations. HOORAH!
