Satan's Dress Shop

Oh my God, I've been sent to Hell.

Except the sign at the entrance says Clara's Brides*. And here, Satan is a very stout, pushy woman who keeps yanking me out of my dressing room to a giant fun-house mirror, where she pokes at me and observes that the dresses are too tight. Oh really? I hadn't noticed. I'm turning purple and I just cracked two ribs, but thank you Master of the Obvious for discerning the problem.

The problem being that my rib cage is the size of a Roman War God's.

I'm sure at some point in my ancestor's history, large rib cages served a purpose (although what that purpose was, I cannot imagine). Here in the 21st Century, in a bridal store where all dresses are manufactured for Teri Hatcher, it is not so helpful.

Satan only carries sample sizes so I'm pretty much shit out of luck. Did I mention there's a heat wave, and Hell has no air conditioning? So now I'm sweating through the dresses like some kind of farm animal as I struggle in and out of torturous tea-length garments. All the while, the little woman drags me from dressing room to mirror and back, muttering "this one doesn't fit you either. You're much larger than you appear."

Horrendous colors I can live with. Big bows? Bring it. Hell, I'd dress like a circus clown if that's what my friend wanted. The only thing I ask is not to be stuffed in a dress like it's sausage casing.

I remember hearing somewhere that Raquel Welch had ribs removed to shrink her waistline. At the time it struck me as ridiculous. Standing in Satan's dressing room, it suddenly sounded brilliant.

But I've got to get a grip. This wedding has been a long time coming and I've committed to selflessness. She deserves to have a wonderful wedding from start to finish. That means everything from the perfect proposal, to a gorgeous location, to the exquisite folding of each individual dinner napkin. Besides, what kind of person worries more about a dress than her friend's biggest moment? Certainly not the person I want to be. I want to live in the moment, treat people with care, and prioritize things that are truly valuable.

I'm teetering on the edge of failure. But I'll be damned if these little torture units of chiffon and taffeta are going to beat me.

I beat my tears back, turned to the little fat woman and said, "you need to stop talking." It was either hurt this woman's feelings or ruin my friend's day with a mental breakdown. The little lady opened her mouth to protest, but I interrupted "No seriously. You need to stop speaking entirely."

Patrons stared and the little fat lady was silent for a long moment. Then something magical happened. She shut her mouth and walked away. Know what? I suddenly felt a hell of a lot better. The dress even got looser. Maybe I'm not the nicest person to everyone, but I think it's okay to start with my friend. I'll worry about everyone else later.