Dress distress


In the grand scheme of laws available to regulate modern society Murphy’s is always the most reliable.

 Just when I thought everything was coming together and all that remained to concern myself with was hair and makeup on the day, it all started to unravel with resistance from the shul that our caterer is not kosher enough and news that the dress may not be ready in time? The dress?

I’d come to terms with my body shape, lumps and all, and was due for my first fitting this week. But Madame Dressmaker collapsed, took a fall as one might say more euphemistically – the upshot is that she is bedridden and my dress lies in wait.

But while embarking on a search for something appropriate for my mother to wear in colour (which my sister has now made mandatory), my eyes happened upon a dress that could pass for ‘the wedding dress’ in my size and at the dashingly handsome price of $45. Murphy! I used all my restraint to not try it on out of loyalty to Madame. (I hope not in vain) Would-be wedding attire with attractive prices does not stay on the rail for too long.

When I first met my dressmaker I was taken aback by the extensive map network on her face. She and her husband looked like something out of the pages of the Ancient Mariner, with the emphasis on ancient. I always feared she might drop dead before finishing the dress, but put aside my misgivings on account of her still-sharp wit and ability to sketch a design with ease.

Now what? I must pray that her recovery is quick and revert to reason that everything works out in the end. But with five weeks to go, who can afford reason?

A piece of the action: Everybody wants in on the wedding







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