How To Traumatise A Shell

It's my sister-in-laws wedding on Saturday.  This is a good thing, obviously.  She is marrying a man who likes dragons and dogs and who can cope with her family's obsession with cheese (we had a tower of cheese wheels at our wedding; my husband's dad still talks about it.  It think he may have forgotten the rest of the wedding, in all honesty.  It has become the Day of the Cheese.)  Anyway, the soon-to-be-husband of my sister-in-law is a lovely bloke and I am very happy for them.

I am less happy about the need to buy a wedding outfit.

I don't like wedding outfits.  The last time I bought a dress was for my own wedding and that was nearly five years ago (give or take a week - cards have started arriving wishing us a happy anniversary, which is normally how I tell it is about this time of year).  The last time I wore a dress was the wedding dress.  I think I have only worn a skirt five times since then.  My Year 13 class commented on it and got me to spin around to show them how it moved.  It was quite a nice skirt, actually.  Wonder what happened to it.

Normally, though, I live in walking trousers, jeans, work trousers and so on.  And dressing gowns.  We should be allowed to wear those out and about it normal life.  They are so much more comfortable, and I have a lovely hot-pink one.  I am sure hot-pink is fashionable.

But now, I have to wear actual out-of-the-house clothes for a wedding, so fine.  Except we are a few days away and had kind of, maybe, just a bit got caught up in archery.  So we had an hour tonight to get to the shops.

The suit for J was easy.  We were only in the shop for two minutes a little guy who reminded me of the Glory-worshiping lizard in Buffy turned up and pointed out an offer which included a full suit, tie, shirt and shoes.  Excellent.  Done and dusted in thirty minutes.  And a very nice suit it is, too.

Then I had to persuade myself to try on something other than T-shirts.  Hardly any of those dresses they sell in pretty-girl shops have dragons on.  Did you know that?  In fact, I could not find a single one.  It's a scandal.

Eventually, I asked the assistant if a pinkish dress I had found would make me look stupid.  Possibly not how I was meant to ask for help, but it was the best I could do.  She helped me find a slightly more solid pink with embroidery on it and a shoulder-jacket-thing.  It had a proper name.  I can't remember it.  I shall hereby refer to it as Fred.

The pink dress and Fred looked all right.  J said they looked very nice.  The assistant kept telling me what a good outfit it was, even when I had said I would buy it.  Overselling.  Once I have accepted I am going to buy a dress, it is really just better not to make me dwell on it.

She made me try on shoes, as well.  With heels.  I felt like a T-Rex, wobble-stomping round the shop.  A T-Rex in a pretty pink dress with a bow.  Jurassic Park would have been a different film if I had been allowed into wardrobe.

The shows were the wrong colour.  Apparently, you aren't allowed to wear turquoise shoes with a pink dress.  Or something.  Shoes still need to be bought.  Or, if it comes to it, I suppose I could always do what I ended up doing at my own wedding.  I could just abandon the restrictive concept of shoes and go bare-foot.

That has exhausted my ability to cope with dresses, shop-assistants and the outside world, so I am now huddled on the settee, in jogging pants and a Skyrim T-shirt, with my laptop showing about twenty tabs and a chinese take-a-way ordered.  This is much more like it.

Oh, God.  I just remembered that on Saturday I might have to find my make-up.  I'm pretty sure we brought it with us when we moved last year.