Shortly after Christmas, my long-suffering wife and I drove to Florida for a visit with her sister’s family in Melbourne. An unexpected highlight awaited. Given the choice of watching a bunch of men in shorts kicking each other’s shins or accompanying my wife, her sister, and two nieces to The Bridal Boutique, I chose the latter.
I had wisely avoided such enterprises when my daughters married, so why was I going now? Well, my gifted, talented, lovely, witty, and brilliant niece is getting married in March. She had purchased a wedding gown and was going in for a fitting. Being a lifelong learner, I thought I’d tag along.
While Anna was getting fitted, I roamed around the estrogen-rich environment, looking at wedding gowns on a rack that extended about the length of a football field. The cheapest gown was $1,800, and they escalated into the low 4’s. Off the rack. Above the rack were posters of the Bulemia All-Stars modeling various gowns. One young woman appeared to have failed in her attempt to escape vampires.
Backtracking to the front of the business, I proved useful in picking out the color for the Mother of the Bride dress. Blue. Later passed over for a mauve taupe sea mist stone aqua.
And even though Anna looked radiant in her tasteful gown, I just might pass when it’s time for my niece Amy to visit the Bridal Boutique. And maybe give soccer another look.