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Drama Queen candidates
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Table Talk

Did you agonize over the decision to circumcise your baby boy? Do you regret the decision your parents made for you? Join the foreskin debate in Table Talk.

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ARCHIVES

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Mamafesto
By Camille Peri
Why it's time
for Mothers Who Think

[ CONTESTANT #1 ]

FIT TO BE A BRIDESMAID
By Mimi Larscheid
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I have lost eight pounds recently and hope to lose more. What motivates me is the fact that I have to wear a hideous, sleeveless, backless, floor-length, form-fitting bridesmaid dress for my brother's wedding in May.

The following is what happened to me one Saturday, when I had to put a down payment on my dress. Before trotting off to the bridesmaid shop, I had my secretary take my measurements so that the woman there wouldn't corner me and make me stand in front of a three-way mirror in my control-top briefs and leftover nursing bra with the snap missing, the left flap of which is held in place by a safety pin that has rusted in the wash and bled onto the bra.

My husband was working, so I had my two children with me: 2-year-old Jarrett (aka Thing1) and 1-year-old Lauren (aka Thing2). They were in a good mood, so I thought I could run in and just drop off the measurements. While the woman dug up the order, I could see the frenzy brewing in Jarrett's eyes as he dreamed of burying his little chocolate-smeared face in the white and pastel silks and chiffons.

When the woman finally found the order, she lowered her glasses to the tip of her thin nose, and then took a slow, appraising look at me -- from the top on down to the bottom. She made the executive decision that I needed to be remeasured. Since Thing1 was starting to wiggle, I decided that he would be easier to manage in the fitting room. Once in the fitting room, the kids were entertained by the mirrors and proceeded to put their little hands and mouths all over them, and then take turns pushing one another off of the little stand that you perch on for alterations.

I peered at the woman as she strode off in search of The Dress, hoping she wasn't going to stop at that hideous, backless, sleeveless thing at the end of the rack. She did, and returned with the dreaded frock. She watched me strip down to my control-top briefs and infamous nursing bra. Yippee. She threw the dress over my head, and in the glare of the fluorescent lights, I looked like a cake decoration that had been left in the sun a bit too long, and had melted into a lumpy, indistinguishable pile. She clicked her tongue against the top of her mouth in an attempt to buy time to think of something nice to say. I smiled at her and told her we should get on with the measurements, and she looked relieved. Thing1 and Thing2 were winding up. She measured me and then left the room to get a dress "closer to my size." This was when I looked down and realized it had quite obviously been a long time since I'd shaved my bikini area. I was mortified!

Unbeknownst to me, Thing1 had managed to pick up two stones in the decorative border outside of the bridal salon door on our way in. I heard a loud tapping and realized that Thing1 had the stones in his hands and was rapping them on one of the mirrored walls, nicking it in three places! I grabbed the stones. I was in my underwear -- I had NO pockets -- so I held one in each hand and waited for Brunhilda to come back with the other dress. After a long time, she reentered empty-handed and announced that they didn't have the size sample I needed and we would just have to wait for the one I ordered to come in. While she was talking, I was desperately trying to hide my terrible bikini area, the two rocks in my hands, the nicks in the mirror and the utter humiliation I was feeling.

It has taken me a week to get over this experience, but in retrospect, it's hysterically funny, or at least it will be until I meet The Dress again, in front of 150 wedding guests. Sigh.
SALON | Dec. 10, 1997

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