Cleavage.. of a most peculiar kind
This friday, it will be two weeks until our nuptials. I keep a record of the days as they progress, just to make sure I can assimilate the fact that I am getting married and to stem the little sick feeling of panic that keeps trying to rise at the back of my throat.
Don't get me wrong. I am very much looking forward to being Mrs Subtle. It is just the sheer fact of things to be done, combined with financial "issues" and work getting in the way. More than anything, I look forward to about two days post wedding when we are sunning ourselves in Thailand, looking over a cheesy paperback at my beloved, sipping Mai Thais, with nary a care in the world.
My latest issue of note has been my dress. *The* dress. The white frou-frou frock of matrimony. The dress is indeed quite lovely, and I am looking forward to wearing it and feeling quite lovely. At my first fitting for it two weeks ago, the dress was too large. Unless one does couture, the bridal outfitters buy in the "closest approximate" size to your dimensions and then modify it to fit. Bespoke for the financially challenged. Apparently my measurements and the size resulting, do not necessarily tally to a fit on my body. No matter....the staff began inserting pins and taking measurements of dress reduction and assured me all would be well.
Fitting number two last Friday found me in the changeroom in high heels and my underwear - feeling strangely like some outcast from a porn film. The dress was dragged over my head and zipped up. No deep breathing for me, but who needs breathing when the aim is to look lovely! I left the changeroom to get in front of the mirror - handily located in the middle of the store. I looked lovely. Bridal even. I admired the bodice of the gown which made me feel quite feminine. The flow of the skirt and the colour against my skin were all perfect. And then I stood side on for a profile view. And that is when I noticed disaster.
I am not a small girl. Ok, I mean, I am short, but bust wise, and general shape is lumpy. Curvy. Rubenesque. Call it what you will, but I ain't no frail little thing. But I am generally ok with that. What I didn't expect to see, when looking side on in my wedding dress was cleavage both front and back. Yes people, I am the proud owner of back fat. I have a muffin top on my back. The squeezing, cinching bodice, has revealed fat where shoulder blades should be.
I may have screamed. I don't remember. I just remember alerting the staff to this matter and becoming a little shrill and terse! They moved into action, workshopping a few ideas to solve this new dilemma. Liposuction passed through my mind. As did spending the entire day with my back to a wall. With careful shuffling of undergarments, and a sleight of hand, the back fat slipped down under the dress, back from whence it came. I am still hesitant and going to pack some tape, just in case my back fat misbehaves and needs to be cajoled into submission.
I have two self-appointed bridesmaids for the day*. Their duties are fairly simple. One has the dubious honour of helping me pee. And the other is on back fat alert. I may have to restrict her alcohol to ensure she keeps up her job!
*Yes, there are people who really wanted the job that much they self designated themselves.