The week leading up to the wedding was incredibly intense. The days seemed to last forever as we tried to cram in all of the last minute "stuff" and deal with the various mini crises that just seemed to keep coming up. My dress and the programs were huge sources of stress and incredibly frustrating since all of the problems were caused by incompetent vendors and were completely out of my control. The programs were eventually sorted out, but the dress drama nearly drove me to homicide.
On Friday I had to pick up my dress, borrow a guitar from a friend, and the ever so lovely Carolyn at the airport. I figured it would just take a bit to run in, grab the dress and then scoot over to the airport by the time Carolyn was arriving at 11:30. The first sign that things were not all right in the world was when the tailor brought my dress out from the back room and the bra cups that I'd asked her to sew in were still in their little ziploc bag on the outside of the dress bag. I stayed calm at that point and politely inquired as to why the cups hadn't been sewn into the dress. Her response? I hadn't told her that I needed them sewn in.
I sort of just stared at her in disbelief, recalling how at my fitting on Monday she had watched me take the cups out of their bag, insert them into the bodice and then had her help in adjusting them. I even remembered how we had all laughed because I'd accidentally put the cups on the wrong sides. However, she told me that it could be fixed quickly and she'd sew them in while we waited.
So, back into the fitting room we went, and when my sister took the dress out of the bag it was immediately apparent that it hadn't been pressed like we had been told it would. We tied the laces, inserted the cups and had them pinned in place, and then asked about the pressing. I'm not entirely sure what the tailor was trying to say (her English isn't the greatest), but just just kept saying over and over again that "her machine couldn't do it"--that is press the dress without steam as the French taffeta material required. However, they assured us that they had called a nearby dry cleaner and they would be able to press the dress in one day so we could pick it up the next morning.
I was not at all thrilled with the situation, but didn't see any way that I could force her to press the dress, so we paid her the $179 (!!!!) for the alterations on my dress and my sister's dress and went on our merry way to the recommended dry cleaner. Which was closed. Because it was the Friday after Thanksgiving. So essentially our tailor charged us nearly $200 to take in the bodice of my dress about an inch, sew a hem, insert some bra cups, and then lied to us about checking to make sure that someone could take care of the pressing for us in time.
I wasn't quite livid at this point, but the anger was certainly mounting since it was now 11:15 and Carolyn was expecting us to pick her up in about 30 more minutes. We drove on to another dry cleaner who told us that it could be done, just not at their location. So, giant dress in hand once more, we moved on to the next location where the girls, and I shit you not, LAUGHED IN MY FACE when I told them I needed my dress pressed without steam by the next day.
This is about when my insides combusted and my eyes started seeing red. I didn't speak for fear of what I would say in my current state, and we were forced to accept that we were going to have to iron my dress at home on our own that afternoon and that was just going to have to be good enough.
We did eventually get to the airport to pick up Carolyn, who had been waiting sweetly and patiently for nearly 2 hours, but now we were behind schedule and had to race around town to pick up the guitar and grab some last minute supplies at Target before leaving for the rehearsal at 4:15.
The rehearsal went... well enough. I had a little mini-breakdown before the rehearsal started, a breakdown that was fueled into blinding fury by the end of the rehearsal. I mentioned before that someone in the wedding party trying to change certain aspects of the ceremony behind my back, but luckily (or unluckily for the certain someone, I suppose) I found out from all of my lovely and attentive spies and was able to switch everything back to the way it was supposed to be when the rehearsal was over.
Because of the course of events earlier in the day, no one at my house had time to get ready for the rehearsal dinner before we left, so after the rehearsal we headed back to my house to change. And when you have four grown women, two children ages seven and three, and three extremely unhelpful men in one house trying to get ready during the most intense and emotionally charged football game of the season, there is just no way to get everyone out the door in 15 minutes or less. Which is how I showed up 45 minutes late for my Rehearsal Dinner, and was horrified to discover that they had held the serving of dinner until we arrived.
Mortified does not even begin to express how I felt as I went through the buffet line and then sat at the head table, far away from my friends and family, trying to find my appetite buried beneath all of the stress and frustration. Fortunately, once the awkwardness of dinner was over, I made it out to the dance floor and had a fabulous time for the rest of the evening with my friends and family.
So, Friday was a bit of a bust, but the wedding weekend came in like a lion and went out like a lamb. Aside from the fact that the weather gods were not on our side, Saturday went absolutely beautifully and if we hit any snags along the way, I never heard about them. However, at this moment in time, a Quizno's Turkey, Bacon, Guacamole sandwich (hold the bacon) is calling my name, and when I hit "save" my NaBloPoMo obligations will be completed successfully. Therefore I'll get to the actual wedding recap on Sunday or Monday and until then you can feast your eyes on this gorgeous slideshow put together by our wedding photographer. (Just promise not to look too closely at the ones featuring my profile, because seriously, hate. My sister got the boobs AND the bone structure!)
