I shopped today like the mad freakazoid I am, trolling the mall for age- and occasion-appropriate duds for this benighted rehearsal brunch. (More on that in a mo.) Unlike yesterday's unsuccesful attempt, today I started at H&M, which turns out to be The White Pants Store of My Dreams. And cheap, too. I somehow got three pairs of pants, all of which may go back, because I now have confidence after speaking to the mother of the bride, aka The Sibs, who said that if she feels like wearing black pants, she'll wear black, so I can too.There were no invitations to this swinging soiree, but the Sibs just told me that the rehearsal itself is called for 11:00 (I knew that) and the "brunch" -- heavy on the "" -- is at an Italian restaurant nearby from noon to four. Four! What the f--! That's not brunch, it's torture. Once again, if the Sibs ain't staying for the whole thing, neither am I. Too much to do, man. (And what sort of "brunch" do they serve at an Italian restaurant, I'd like to know?)
I'm really really sorry for all this boring wedding crap. It's like it's the only thing I can think about. It's almost over.
Oh, here's another amusing moment from the mall. After getting the white pants, I bopped on into Victoria's Secret to purchase white-pants appropriate undergarments, and while I was there, I thought I'd amuse the helpful little salesgirl, so I asked her if they carried camisoles. Well, of course they do. I suggested that they might not have one in my size, but she looked very confident that they would. So I told her my bra size and her jaw dropped. She expressed doubt that I wasn't making it up, so I straightened up and showed her my full tank-topped glory and damn if she didn't believe all those d letters I was throwing around. P.S. If you're anything bigger than your basic D, don't bother dropping in on Victoria. She doesn't even want to talk to you. With apologies to any male readers in the world of chai.
I'm getting my nails done tomorrow at 5:00, and then I guess I have to figure out what I'm even packing for the weekend, and in what. This is just so weird. In three days time, this will be a married woman:
But without the hat.
