Dummy Spit

Well I had another little ‘Bridezilla’ moment I’d guess you’d call it on the phone the other night. Although I really hate that word. It brings to mind trashy American women who scream and rip shreds of people, either personally or professionally because the ribbon they ordered was actually 2mm wider than what they got or something equally not as earth shattering in the grand scheme of things. I’m sure they have a reason to want whatever they do but they seem to go from perfectly pleasant to hard core harlot in a matter of seconds and you wonder how they managed to get that past their fiancés in order to get engaged in the first place. I don’t think I was that bad though. I didn’t go psycho but basically I was not happy and became a little blunt because suggestion, coercion and requests did not seem to have worked. It eventually got down to if you don’t do something now, I will.

That fact that it got to that point however is probably another result of me not fully expressing my precise wishes from the beginning and just trying to unobtrusively coax the situation towards the outcome that I desired. I can see why it was perhaps a little unfair of me to actually spit the dummy over the fact that I was not understood. Obviously at the same time as it greatly irritates me that I believe I had a perfectly reasonable request that was fully explained – and then ignored. And it was all over a stupid jacket / bolero / shawl / wrap / cover thing. As The Boy and I are getting married in winter and the rest of the bridal party will be fully clothed from top to toe, it was kind of bothering me that my Maid of Honour, otherwise known to others as my sister (or The Pussycat), was still only to be attired in a strapless dress. It is to be a church wedding and I felt it was appropriate, especially given the season for her to have her shoulders covered. I also intend on having location photos after the ceremony and it would really tick me off if she were unable to smile due to her teeth chattering or violent convulsive shivering.

Ok, maybe the violent shivering thing is a little exaggerated. We have had some perfectly lovely weather recently and winter in Australia is a whole different kettle of fish than winter in Austria. It can still get cold however and I don’t want her freezing her assets off as she is forced to stand around or sit still while we go about the process of having a wedding. So I wanted her to have something more to wear. As much as possible, I also wanted her to have something she liked. I’d already nixed the idea of a fur shrug and she had told me she hated boleros with a passion and thought that the various wraps out there were a complete waste of space. This didn’t leave an awful lot of options however and I felt I had managed to find a sort of compromise. I found a pattern that I thought was both simple and elegant and probably not too hard to sew (or have sewn for us) but my idea was apparently too hard or merely too much effort. Or rather actually going out and taking a look at the picture in the pattern book for me was too much effort because that was where we seemed to hit the first snag.

So anyway, I got the irrits and made it known that there was no longer a request to find a solution she liked to my problem but rather a choice. Within certain parameters (which were pretty much about colour), she could find a solution she liked or she got mine. It wasn’t an angry conversation but more of a tired one. This was something we so should have sorted out earlier than this and it has taken to the last minute to get it out on the table and to hear that she wasn’t doing anything because she assumed she had to sew something herself which she just didn’t want to do. I gather that after we spoke on the phone though, she had a similar vent to our mum who then called me and it seems that mum is now going to follow up a jacket idea. My mother is getting her wedding attire custom made and is going to ask if the dress maker can possibly copy a jacket for The Pussycat as well. I don’t know exactly how it will all work out yet but hopefully on the day everything will come together. As everyone keeps on telling me, knowing both The Boy and myself, how could it be otherwise. Of course, in the same breath they usually say that we’ll have each other so nothing else truly matters anyway but we shall see.