My fingers are hurting (too much typing). I was dragging my heels through the current job today when I got a phone call from a friend. The princess, who's been planning her wedding since the third grade practically, is planning in earnest now. I get to be a bridesmaid, which means I don't have to worry about (or even be scared of) what to wear, oddly enough, because she has a particular aesthetic sense. For example, she rejected the Willard as a reception venue because the very gorgeous hall was too green.
But anyway, she wanted to know if I'd like to run up to Manhattan with her this weekend. She has an appointment at a chi-chi wedding dress place.
Yes! And we will have tea somewhere. We commiserated at missing the chance to have tea at the Plaza, which is now being turned into condos, but maybe the restaurants will stay open.
I will bring my camera and take pictures of the dresses, if they'll let me. The princess tells me that trying on dresses involves something called "clamping." I'm sure it's not as kinky as it sounds. I told her, "You know, what with my current haircut, at this place they might think we're together." She said, "Oh, you don't look like a boy." That's not exactly what I meant …
Oz is unnerved by all this dress talk. I said, "You don't think I'm going to get bridal-envy, do you?" He said, "No, but it's just so Doris Day creepy!"
254 words | July 27, 2006 10:49 PM | Wish you were here