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03 October 2007 @ 10:42 pm
I’ve not forgotten that I’d promised to tell you of the Great Wedding Flash of ‘97. Well, to be fair, I’d sort of forgotten. Truth is, it isn’t all that compelling a tale. Nonetheless, I promised the story and the story you shall have.

Don proposed to me Labor Day weekend of ‘96. We planned on being married in September of ‘97, two weeks after Faire closed. BAD idea when it comes to wedding planning. I’m scattered and disorganized at the best of times. Trying to pull together a wedding when we were involved in meetings and rehearsals and then the entire run of Faire? Not. Good.

But really, my needs were simple: I wanted to celebrate my wedding with those I loved, and at the end of the day I wanted to be married to my sweetie. Full stop. We had the wedding outdoors at a summer camp. We bought the flowers the week before. Bought most of the wine and beer two days before. Decided on a cookout rather than an sit-down meal. The tables were to be outside, under the trees in full view of a beautiful lake. Very, very casual.

Unfortunately, I took that same approach when it came to my dress. A friend-ish acquaintance from faire had a background, so I was told, in costume construction. She offered, as her gift to me, to make my wedding dress. I’m a stumpy-torsoed oddly shaped person; ready made dresses intimidated the living hell out of me. So, I leapt on her offer. She fitted me for a tight bodice, which she assured me would fit so perfectly I need not wear a bra. The bodice would have off-the-shoulder cap sleeves and snug down to a full, foofy silk taffeta skirt. Very nice. In theory.

On the day of the wedding, as two of my dearest friends on this great green earth did my hair and makeup and told me jokes to keep me distracted, the hands of the clock crept ever closer to the time I was to walk down the aisle (well, forest path) with no dressmaker and no dress in sight. At last, about five minutes before the ceremony was to begin, their car pulled up... and she was in the back, still sewing. By this time, I was in a state of complete serenity. If I had to wear shorts and a tank top with my mom’s lace veil, I would do so. I was marrying Don. That was all that mattered. My two dearest friends, k. in particular, were furious on my behalf. I was sewed into my dress (the grommets on the bodice never happened; just needle and thread) and sent off along the aisle (forest path!) to the chapel (rustic wooden platform) by the lake. The ceremony was simple and lovely. We were surrounded by our loved ones, friend and family alike, in the woods on a surpassingly beautiful autumn day. There was laughter and there were tears. There was a fetching ramble along the path back to the reception area. There was food and there was wine and there was music. And there was the first dance.

Since the Crimson Pirates had sung their version of Wild Mountain Thyme at our engagement, it was only fitting that be our first dance as well. So, the group gathered, and Don and I melted into each other’s arms and began moving to the sweet, lilting tune. He spun me out, and - suddenly, time slowed down. “You won’t need to wear a bra!” I heard, as if from a great distance. “Hold still; I don’t want to poke you with this needle.” That one was a bit closer. And oh, so terribly slowly, I could feel the shift of fabric as the supposedly snug bodice, well - unsnugged.

Out popped my left breast.

In front of the entire reception, who were intent on watching the first dance.

Here is something most of you may know, or at least have guessed. I am brutally self-conscious. I am also painfully shy. This was a moment of abject horror. But I also have my moments, and this was one of them. “You have two choices,” I told myself. “Run away crying, or get the hell over it.”

I hiked the bodice back up, grinned and waved at the poor, violated crowd and said, “Hi, everyone!” and finished the dance. This was my wedding, dammit. A celebration. I’d be damned it I let that moment ruin it all.

But, truth be told, it’s still ouchy. And if I had it all to do again and could change only one thing, I’d buy a dress. I wanted to be fairy-princess pretty for one day. When can I ever do that again? But then, it is one day, and now it’s ten years on and I still have most of those loved ones around me and I still have my sweetie, who thinks I’m beautiful and desirable and brilliantly talented and assumes that everyone else sees me exactly as he does.

I call that a win.

Oh, and *tappitytappityTIMESTEP!*

I feel: mischievousmischievous
Andrewquueer on October 4th, 2007 02:51 am (UTC)
OMG Janet Jackson totally should have had to pay you royalties for her wardrobe malfunction. Totally stole that from you.

Kel: don't let them see you're afraidladyjoust on October 4th, 2007 02:55 am (UTC)
I can't believe how hard it was to write about that. Seriously. My cheeks are burning, and my heart she is a-racing. I keep telling myself I'm not troubled by it but you know what? I sort of am.


Andrewquueer on October 4th, 2007 02:59 am (UTC)
You know, I've never actually met you. But I've seen pictures, I've gotten emails, I've read your livejournal, and I too think you are brilliant and talented and hundreds of other good things.

Have I told the story of threatening my sr prom date with bodily harm while in the limo?
Kel: Babs aloneladyjoust on October 4th, 2007 03:05 am (UTC)
*blushes and mumbles*

No, but I NEED to hear that. You are mightily fierce.

Oh, and I believe you promised the story of dropping trow before kindergarteners, was it?

Andrewquueer on October 4th, 2007 03:14 am (UTC)
yeah, so we were making "indian dresses" by cutting big pieces of brown butcher paper, a hole in the middle, fringe on either edge, and then sticking our heads through the hole and drawing "authentic indian designs" on the front in crayon (I think I had a peace sign and a smiley face). Anyway, we went through our little song and dance numbers and stuff during "rehearsal" and we were told that these were just practices, so our costumes didn't need to be exactly right - so I left my pants on.

However, during the actual performance we got to wear our costumes with everything done right (all the girls got their hair braided and face paint "indian designs" on our faces and arms. Anyway, right before we go on the teacher said "ok, make sure your costumes are perfect!" so I did - by taking off my pants.

It was a dress. one does NOT wear blue jeans with a dress. Mom taught me that. So I was NOT going to be the Indian committing the fashion faux pas. My teacher made me put my pants back on before we went on stage. But I was pantsless for a few minutes before she noticed all the other little girls taking off their pants.
Kel: kindred spiritsladyjoust on October 4th, 2007 03:25 am (UTC)
HA! I adore how those wee girls were right there with you!

Now then: prom date/bodily harm story, please.

Andrewquueer on October 4th, 2007 12:03 pm (UTC)
Yes, ok. I went to senior prom with this boy who, by the time the day rolled around I wanted to punch in the face. But I'd gone to prom the year before with a girl (it was platonic at the time except for making out in the bathroom - we didn't GO with that intention though. Well, I didn't. Mostly. Moving on.) and my parents were so damn thrilled to see me spending time with somebody with a Y chromosome that I wasn't going to cancel. Anyway, his name was Ian Christopher (see,should have been a sign. The guy had not one but two names of two of my siblings. At the time they were both incarcerated too.) and he was the boy who wore a trench coat. I think, subconsciously, I was scared he'd shoot up the school or something like that if I canceled.

Ok, on to the story. I went to prom with him, and my friend Tracy's mom offered to get Tracy and her date along with two other couples a limo. So it was Tracy and Derek who were Just Friends from drama club, Liza and Gareth who were Very Serious boyfriend and girlfriend for nearly two years at that point (and who are now engaged. freaks.) and me and Ian. I had made it so very very clear to Ian that we were NOT DATING. I'd made it clear at every opportunity I possibly could have. I made it clear at night when we chatted on AIM, I made it clear during Journalism class, I made it clear at lunch when he'd make awkward comments. It was DAMN clear.

So, we're on our way to the prom in the limo, and Tracy and Derek are chatting and laughing, Liza and Gareth are having one hell of a heavy duty make out session, and Ian and I are sitting there. Awkwardly. So Ian pulls that Super Inconspicuous and Very Casual move of stretching his arms and having one just happen to land on my shoulder. And then he started to move it down. Now, see, even when I like somebody bunches and bunches, I hate having my boobs touched. I very recently moved to having sex without a bra. She he was still pretty far up, but there was definite boobage within his reach.

So I informed him in no uncertain terms that if he touched my breath I had no qualms about grabbing his crotch and twisting.

And the asshole didn't stop. I'm like... did ya think I was joking man?

So I pulled on my little shruggy-jacket thing I'd brought with me, and scooted away. He still tried to move closer. I told him that I really would punch him in the face if any part of his body got anywhere my boobs weren't ok with. At that point he mostly got the point. He tried to kiss me a few times that night, which I put the kibash on with death glares. There was no goodbye kiss, no after party, no wild sex, nada. They all spent the night at Tracy's, but by that point I was so desperate to get home I asked the cab driver to drop me off at my house.

So much for fairy princess nights, eh? I had a much better time the next year at college. My then girlfriend called me up and asked me to meet her by the lake (read: old golf water hazard). She threw on some music and we danced then. I felt much more princessy in a pair of sweatpants and an old wife beater (I didn't have time to change, alright?) than I ever did at prom.

I think there may have even been consensual boob action.
Andrewquueer on October 4th, 2007 12:06 pm (UTC)
I hate typos:
So he* not "she he"
and breast* not "breath"


it's early.
Cattomincloset on October 4th, 2007 04:48 am (UTC)
Might I also add that not only ARE you fairy-princess pretty, you are also one better -- you are warrior-princess pretty. And I have seen your rack, and 'tis a rack of which to be damn proud (WAY better than Janet-Saggy-Tit-Jackson), even when it escaped without permission.
Now go jump on your husband because I know he agrees with me.
Fjordhopper: sgirlfjordhopper on October 4th, 2007 09:13 am (UTC)
You are saying exactly what I was going to write!! (except for the part about seeing her boobs!)
Definitely fairy warrior princess pretty!

Jobs, baby, Jobs!: wolviebeerpicoland on October 4th, 2007 10:33 am (UTC)
feel free to do the jump on your husband thingee as well :)

Ratesjul: soaringratesjul on October 4th, 2007 06:00 am (UTC)
You did win darling. And so did your husband.

And your friends win too, because you are such a wonderful person and a wonderful friend.
Gloryforestofglory on October 4th, 2007 08:26 am (UTC)
I'm very impressed at your "show must go on" moment. Good for you.
Vampcurse: Hugsvampcurse on October 4th, 2007 12:07 pm (UTC)
First, KUDOS to you for not going ape shit on the seamstress, first for showing up with a notsomuch COMPLETED dress, and then for it falling off. I probably would have buried her in the campground. Bless you.

Second, I agree, that Janet Jackson owes you royalties.

Third, you handled that situation the only way that is befitting of you, with class.

Well done.

PS...Any pics? I'd love to see! (Not of your breast, unless you want to show that? ;P But of the dress)
harpiegirl4harpiegirl4 on October 4th, 2007 12:07 pm (UTC)
You dealt with the sitch with style and grace, sweetie. And now you have a fabulous story to tell!

Still... I woulda slugged that so-called "dressmaker." The whole POINT of custom-tailored dresses is that you're not supposed to have problems like that. Clearly, she didn't know what she was doing. Dressmaking is really hard (I've done it), much harder than people think. Just because you can sew a pillow or a simple top doesn't mean you can make a dress, and unfortunately a lot of beginners don't realize that. I learned to sew when I was 10. My mother is a fashion designer, and she taught me to make my own clothes, which I did for years (back when I used to have free time. Ahhhh). I've even made big fancy Elizabethan gowns (THAT almost killed me!) and worked for a costume shop, and I STILL would never offer to make a wedding dress for someone!

That being said, when you find someone good at their craft, there is nothing more fairy-princess than a custom-made gown. So don't swear 'em off because of one (admittedly traumatic) bad experience.

Love you!
Kerry: OMG ONOZscreamingdolai on October 4th, 2007 01:26 pm (UTC)
If it makes you feel better, Peter and I were angled in such a way that we did not see boob. :-)
Goddessavhi on October 4th, 2007 02:14 pm (UTC)
They weren't traumatized! They were blessed :)

Boobies rule and yours just wanted to join in the fun!

Seriously though, Yeah. your wedding is not an opportune time for a wardrobe malfunction. I really, really give you tons of kudos for how you handled the entire situation. And while the sudden "OMG! I can't believe that happened!" might spring up on you from time to time, please don't embarassed over it. Many of the people are still around, still love you and are just that closer to you for having witnessed it. :)

Hugs! Thank you for sharing. I know its hard to do sometimes!
Green Monkgrmonk on October 4th, 2007 05:15 pm (UTC)
ok now I'm thinking about your left breast :O)
Aifacataifacat on October 4th, 2007 05:46 pm (UTC)
You handled that awesomely - I think the late-arrival dress thing might have flipped me out a bit, but hell, after I'd married the love of my life, I don't think I'd have cared if the whole dress fell off during the first dance.

Providing all photographic evidence was destroyed, lol.
La Petite Souris Scientifiquemelebeth on October 4th, 2007 06:41 pm (UTC)
I think you are a fairy princess. A brave fairy princess. Of the awesome "Enchanted Forest Chonicles" sort, rather than the fussy sort you get in other, sillier, novels.
Silvie: [Stardust] Lunacy by any other name...silverfyshxin on October 4th, 2007 08:14 pm (UTC)
I think you handled it well. And you told it well, so I can now refer to this story whenever I screw up in public again.