Before I get down to the real topic of this post, I would to finish out my Oraz Bridge series.
It is very hard with Daddy gone. We don't know when to eat dinner. Nobody wants to go to bed. Nolan keeps trying to tickle Daddy through the phone.
It is very hard with Daddy gone and I hardly remember my name, let alone how to write a blog post.
Chapters 7 - 93
It is very hard with Daddy gone. Lather, rinse, repeat.
I am happy to announce that the Oraz Bridge was closed as of October 9th, when Bryan officially moved back to Oregon. Whew. We are all SO glad that he is home. The End.
And now, back to our regularly scheduled blog post:
This weekend Bryan and I celebrated our 17th anniversary with a getaway. The plan was to spend 2 nights at a local hotel practically alone. (Evie, now 8.5 months, was our little tagalong since she is still nursing.) Plus, we had tickets to the Oregon Symphony Pops concert "A Night at the Cotton Club".
As I was packing for the weekend, I realized that my only comfy, pajama, hanging-out, watching movie clothes are either so big they fall off or so old they should be burned. Neither of those options seemed right for a special weekend, so I popped into Ross to find some inexpensive, well fitting and cute "loungewear". I am a fairly decisive shopper, so it didn't take too long to make my decision.
On my way to checkout, I passed the clearance rack and the most amazing dress caught my eye. It was screaming "Look at me! I'm perfect for a night at the symphony!" as I walked past. And it was.
A sleeveless sheath in the most perfect blue shantung fabric,
the V neckline was embellished with elegant ruffles. It was close fitting, without clinging. A lovely band just below the bodice would make me look quite narrow. The skirt was tailored and knee length. I knew I had only three questions to answer before I took it home. Size? MINE! Price? $9.99 = MINE! Fit? I boogied over to the dressing room, my heart pounding as I anticipated surprising my husband with my frugal, fashionable and colorful self.
Evie was getting quite tired of her car seat, so I dug through my purse to find a plaything to keep her occupied while I played dress up. Finally, the moment of truth. I slipped the dress over my head, tugging just the tiniest bit to get past the, ahem, fullest parts of my figure. The zipper gave me no trouble and I was in the dress.
I put on my critical eyes and set to evaluating the details. Hmmm. The neckline is a bit low, but a cami will provide the needed fix for modesty. The armholes are fine. The length is great. As I turned to see my profile, I saw a glimpse of skin in a place I shouldn't have seen skin. The zipper had split about halfway up. It was probably already split when I slid into the dress because my figure wasn't straining the dress at all, if you know what I mean.
Before panicking, before giving up on the dress, I decided to try to reseat the zipper. It was one of those invisible zippers that are set into the side seam. The most reasonable course of action was to take the dress off to work on the zipper, but when I tried to unzip I ran into trouble. The zipper stuck right at that flattering band just below the bodice- the narrowest part of the dress just below my not-narrowest feature. Since the zipper wouldn't move, I tried to haul it over my head while zipped. Not a chance.
After several attempts to free myself, I realized that I would need help. Thankfully, the fitting room attendant was female and willing to lend a hand. It is an awkward thing to have a stranger yanking on a zipper in your armpit. All her yanking was for naught; the dress was unyielding. She went for reinforcements. In less than a minute, two new women were in my dressing stall. They were much more forceful with that zipper but it became clear that the zipper was not going to budge.
"We are going to have to rip you out of that dress."
"I am so sorry! Look, you can see that the dress is the right size; I have plenty of room," mortified, I grabbed the ease in the side of the dress to demonstrate.
"Don't worry about it- it happens, especially with this style of zipper," she said, as she firmly gripped the dress on either side of the zipper.
Tug. Tug, rip. TUG, RRRRRRIP. And that was that. Mission accomplished, my helpers left me alone with the ruined dress.
I sadly slipped that once-perfect dress over my head, carefully arranged it on its hanger and left the store with only my cozy clothes.