18 July 2004
In the Forbidden Zone
I've traveled to forty-two states and a handful of foreign countries; I've driven enough miles to reach half a dozen times around the world. Even in the cases where I can't say "Done that," I can still often say "Been there." But nothing between here or there can prepare the unsuspecting male and I suspect less than most for a hall of mirrors, lined with organza, fueled by estrogen.
I refer, of course, to the bridal salon.
For some inscrutable reason, my daughter wanted some input from me in the process of selecting her wedding dress. Inasmuch as her mom was already booked for this task, I definitely felt like the third wheel on this particular axle, but far be it from me to shy away from a Parental Duty, even one for which I am ill-prepared. Interestingly, the ex and I were in almost total agreement on the four gowns being tried, which surely is a first. (There was a disagreement on the tiara, however.) And I was at least possessed of enough presence of mind not to yell things like "Six hundred dollars for this?"
No matter. In the best of all possible worlds and in the weird wonderland of weddings, that's the only world that's permitted to exist all brides are beautiful, and all brides are entitled to look like a storybook heroine. And after a bit over an hour of Deep Immersion, I'm inclined to think that the bridal salon, in its dedication to these premises, is probably doing us a favor, albeit a short-lived one: if today is, as the phrase goes, the first day of the rest of your life, why not look like a fairy princess for that day? Real Life will intrude soon enough.
It will start intruding on me again rather quickly; barring catastrophe, I should be home late tomorrow.Posted at 5:33 PM to World Tour '04