So I’m in a wedding on October 27th.
I ordered my dress via phone a couple months ago. I hate doing that. Most of the bridal shops are still sizing from the 1940s size charts. So that makes me read a size 10 off my hips. OMG! Anyway, I called in and asked for a size four. The girl said, well I can’t give you a four unless you come in and get measured. I’m like, look, I am not driving all the way to Fort Worth for you to measure me. I can’t do that. So she told me to measure, and where to measure, and call her back with my measurements. I did. And she said I needed a size 10. I’m like, look, I’m 5’tall and 115 soaking wet. There is no way that I am going to order a 10. I’m like how did you arrive at that conclusion?
She says, well your bust measured a 4, your waist measured a 6 and your hips measured a 10. And I’m like “Lady! That dress isn’t even fitted through my hips. It’s strapless with an empire waist. How can you tell me to order a 10?” She came up with some bullshit answer. So I ordered an 8, with my gut telling me the entire time that it was going to be huge. And of course I let her know that too.
Today, when I arrive to pick it up, I’m greeted by an absolutely pretty man, complete with manicured, sculptured nails, beautifully made up skin and the most gorgeous eyebrows I’ve ever seen on a man or a woman. I was slightly jealous.
Anyway, he pulls out my dress which I LOVE, I pay, and he says, “well let’s try this on; I’ll be back to check on you later.”
Keep in mind the bride-to-be is with me today.
We go try on the dress, and it won’t even stay on w/out me holding it up. It’s too big through the waist, the bust, and the hips. I’m livid by this point. The bride to be, who had been informed of the whole situation prior to getting there, is just shaking her head.
We finally get Richard (the beautiful) and then Gina to come over and talk to us, and they are both, of course, embarrassed by how badly this dress fits. And pretty eyebrows, Richard, says, “honey, if I’d have consulted with you, or they’d have consulted with me prior to ordering this dress, we’d have ordered you the right size.”
Anyway, they get the bitch of an assistant manager involved and she, after being rude and very confrontational (thanks for having my back, Leslie. I’m not one that thinks quite so fast on my feet like you!) says she’ll have the manager call me since I need to get this thing altered more than normal and all we really want is for them to do the alterations, pro bono, for lack of a better term to put here.
I’ll hear from the manager in the morning.
In the meantime, Richard still has beautiful eyebrows, and got to get a new pair of shoes to go with a dress that is way too big.
The manager did NOT call me this morning. I should be shocked. But I’m not.