Susan Spess Shay

Still playing make believe.


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*Wedding Dress Blues Continued

I don’t know what I’m doing wrong, but I lost the rest of my last post, so here’s where we left off . . .

This is the first dress that caught my eye. Yes, that’s the entire dress. No leggings to go with it and, thanks to Cher’s pioneering efforts, perfectly acceptable for me to wear (if I was tan, svelte and had super high heels to wear with it) to my son’s wedding.

Not.  🙂

Here’s the next one I pulled out. I think I remember wearing that same dress to my first piano recital (I was 7) except in a different color.

Question: I’m not up on all the latest fashion rules and regs for MOGs, but if a mom wears all black to her son’s wedding, is she transmitting a silent message? As if she’s in mourning or something?

Because I absolutely would not want to do that either of my sons’ weddings. I love both my dil2bs. 

Back to my shopping adventure. Clears throat. Sighs.

Not a map of Russia.

Wait. Maybe that is a map of Russia worked into this jacket. I can’t remember now why this one wouldn’t work. Size? Or maybe it had a long skirt and I don’t want to wear long. (Daytime wedding.)

I remembered they have some dresses and skirts and things in the separates department, so I hopped the escalator and zipped down there. Here’s what I found.

When I saw these oversized garments on the skinny mannequin bodies, a vision of starving orphans in a foreign country came to mind. And one question.

Why?

Finally I found this dress.

I texted Sister Debbie that I now understood what Sackcloth was in the Bible.

She texted back, “Are you going to wear ashes with it?”

If I can’t find something I like better than that? YES! 🙂

I’m starting to think a new pair of jeans with a little bling on the pockets would make a great MOG outfit.

I got some great advice on Facebook the other day. Carol Moore said when her boys got married she was told to wear beige and keep her mouth shut.

I laughed out loud!

So what do you think is best for a MOG? Lockjaw and beige? Black? Any color at all as long as the spandex in the fabric doesn’t suck it so tightly, I look like the Michelin Tire Man?

Any votes for blingy jeans? 🙂

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*Wedding Dress Blues

Overview chart of changes in hemline height (s...

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*Sounds like a country western song title, doesn’t it? LOL. Okay, this isn’t the Wedding Dress Blues. It’s really The MOG’s Dress for the Wedding Shopping Blues. But that just doesn’t flow as a title.

The other night, G-Man had to be fitted for his tux for Middle Son’s wedding. When we arrived at Al’s, we stood in line for a few moments while we waited for others to pick up and try on their tuxs. Then it was his turn.

He was pretty quiet since he a- didn’t want to be there, b-didn’t want to be measured and c- didn’t want to wear a tux. (Guess I should tell him how hot a tux makes a guy look.)

Anyway, when we got to the front of the line, the measuring woman whipped her tape around his neck and started counting the inches. She had him put on a jacket, did a thing with the sleeves, asked a question or two and, tada! They were finished.

It didn’t take but a few seconds for them to measure him from stem to stern.

I wished I could just step up and get fitted, too. But for some reason, G-Man doesn’t want to go to the wedding with his wife in a matching tux. What’s wrong with looking like Pete and Repeat? I ask you.

Dreading it worse than G-Man dreaded the tux fitting, I asked him to drive me to the big mall. He knew it would take me a while–like until the universe stops expanding– to find a MOG (Mother of the Groom) dress to wear to our son’s wedding, so he opted to stay in the car. 😦

I went inside all alone and I looked. And looked. I started wishing I had Samantha’s nose so I could just Bewitch it.

I wandered around the huge store until I found dresses. But the ones I found were the biggies and the tinies. At least there was a very helpful woman in the department who seemed excited about her job. Sadly, she sent me to the right place. There, after looking for several l-o-n-g minutes, a young-ish sales clerk ambled past. “You doin’ okay?”

“No, I’m not,” I answered, hoping for some assistance.

“Uh-kay, good.” She went over to keep the register company. For the rest of the time I was there, she never budged from that place. Not when I carried dresses around. Not when I went into the dressing room. Not even when I left the dressing room and left all the dresses inside.

Maybe she thought her job was to guard the register. If so, she was fantastic!

Since I didn’t have a shopping buddy and didn’t have assistance from the store, I texted Sister Debbie, who was out-of-town. (She promises to go with me next time.)

Being the perfect sister, she kept texting me back and talking me off the ledge. (ie: Those dresses always run small. You can’t worry about the size. Just find one that looks good.)