Wherein my mom does a nice thing and I employ the power of shutting up

For my senior prom, my mom suggested that we have my dress made. I was thrilled. This was such an incredibly kind, thoughtful thing for her to come up with and I knew it was a special treat to show how much she appreciated the fact that I didn’t give her too much grief for a teenaged girl.

We didn’t have much time to execute this, but I had a vision so I thought we’d be okay. A floor-length, pale yellow satin dress with an empire waist and a chiffon over-lay from the bust-line (which was to be scoop neck front and back) down. I wanted it simple, elegant, and not black. I knew every other girl there would be wearing black and I wanted something that would stand out.

We met with a seamstress and I helped her to sketch exactly what I wanted. She took measurements (important to note) and showed me the fabric samples she’d picked up, which I approved. And then I turned her loose.

I went back to pick up my dress the day of prom. The dress was horrendous. The length was about eight inches shorter than I wanted making it, um, matronly. The bust-line was totally off and padded in a way that was Dolly Pardon-esque. Apparently those measurements she took didn’t factor in when she padded the hell out of that sucker. Or maybe they did and she felt bad for me. Anyway, the reason it was padded is that the back was low-cut making a bra impossible. Oh, and to cover the zipper in the back, she stitched on this ugly lacy, beaded piece of oddness. The upshot was that, other than the color and the fabric, it was nothing like what I wanted or expected. It’s like she and I never had a conversation or sketched out a design at all.

I know my mom could tell I was disappointed just by the look on my face and my body language. I knew she was thinking the same thing as me, which was, “Is this seamstress on crack?” But we both kept our mouths shut. There’s no way I would have complained. Not considering my mom’s good intentions and the money she paid. And I think she must have known that her acknowledgement of the situation would have made it worse.

So, I wore the hell out of that dress. I wore it like it was exactly what I had planned all along. I stood out like I wanted to in my pale yellow dress (mission accomplished) and I stood out for some other reasons I didn’t want to (odd glances to my padded chest dually noted). And then I packed that sucker away in my closet with a snort. I still have it. Someday my daughter will wear it as a joke to a costume party or something. Then I guess I’ll feel like my mom got her monies worth!

And now, photographic evidence…

0346 copy

0347 copy

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2 Comments

  1. Ma

     /  July 24, 2013

    Bless your heart!

    Reply

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