The sign on the door reads, “Half off select bridal gowns.” I pause for a moment before opening the door to the dress shop. Reading the words over again in my head, I realize the sign is directed towards me. The next expensive dress purchase I am going to make will be a wedding gown. The thought makes me nauseous.
“What are you looking at?”
My sister Rachel is standing beside me, annoyed that I haven’t opened the door for us.
“Nothing. Just realized I’m old.”
I open the door and we make our way into the sea of dresses. My mom gave me the job of finding my sister a dress for her senior prom that was “fun but classy”. She said she didn’t have the patience after dealing with me and the three proms I went to. I laugh to myself at the site of a room full of teenage girls modeling dresses that expose parts of their bodies that I wouldn’t even show my doctor. My sister walks towards the left side of the room to begin her search for the perfect prom dress. The right side of the room is the bridal side. Also known as my side, or the side I will go to when I get engaged. But that means I have to find a boyfriend, and that means I have to meet someone. Now slightly more depressed than I was when I first arrived, I follow her around and shake my head to signal whether or not I approve of the dress. She holds up a hot pink dress with the sides cut out and the lowest neckline I have ever seen. I raise my eye brows and she puts in back down.
“ Uhhh!! You are no fun! I might as well wear a turtle neck to prom.”
“Yea, I’m sure it would be a lot cheaper than this crap.”
She rolls her eyes and picks up another dress. She shows it to me and I nod. I don’t even care at this point. I hated prom. My freshman year I went with a friend who told me if I dated him he would stay straight. He recently “came out” and now hosts his own live website with video updates every hour. Junior year I went with a big group of girls. We told ourselves we were above taking petty high school boys as dates. Senior year I managed to find a boyfriend a few months before prom. Instead of slow dancing the night away, I spent my night in the men’s bathroom watching my boyfriend vomit Jack Daniels on himself. I guess the saying is true; prom night is a night you will never forget.
As we wait in line for a dressing room I glance over towards the right side of the room. It looks so…….boring. White dress after white dress after white dress. Throw in an ivory one every now and then. Why do wedding dresses have to be white anyway? I’m going to wear a black wedding dress just to piss off whoever made the rule that wedding dresses have to be white. The mirrors on the bridal side have pedestals in front of them for the future brides to stand on. A small part of me wants to run over there and stand on one just to see what happens. I can see it now. As soon as anyone who isn’t engaged so much as sets a toe on the pedestal, alarms will sound and the police will be called.
A sales girl with a name tag that reads “Jo” takes us back to a dressing room. Before my sister shuts the door I peek in to see if she has a pedestal in her room. She doesn’t. I am slightly disappointed. At least my side has something to offer.
“I’m gonna go sit in the chairs on the bridal side okay?”
“Whatever.”
“Come out and show me when you get the dress on.”
“Yea.”
I make myself comfy in a plush zebra print chair. The chairs are set in a semi circle facing the mirrors with the pedestals. A few seconds later, a petite blonde girl emerges from a dressing room and walks out to one of the mirrors. Her dress is white, with a pink ribbon under her bust. She looks like she can’t be a day older than 19. I watch her like a creeper and pretend to be texting someone on my phone. She has friends with her, bridesmaids I assume.
“Oh my god! Get on the pedestal!”
“You look so freaking gorgeous!”
I laugh out loud a little and I hope they didn’t hear me. The bride to be climbs up on the pedestal and stands tall in all her glory. Her three bridesmaids admire her with the fake smiles plastered on their faces. The dress isn’t right for her. Her boobs are too small and she keeps pulling the dress up when it slides down. She does a full spin in the mirror and the girls let out screams of delight.
“Doesn’t this just make you want to go get married?”
Heck no. I check the time on my phone. We’ve only been here twenty minutes and it feels like hours have gone by. Finally my sister comes out.
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