Updated to add, in lieu of (some not unexpected, completely understandable comments, and) me not wanting to make anyone sad and/or distraught:

Chris has surely seen the dress, in pictures, and pictures only, I mean, and while this causes neither of us any distress, I am completely understanding that it does seem odd/unlucky/different to some. Chris doesn’t do well with waiting long periods of time for surprises, and, well, I don’t do well with keeping them from him. More than that, though, we just both feel that I will look completely different than that particular woman in the photographs, being that I’m, well, not her, and he will surely be surprised and overjoyed and all the rest upon seeing me at the church. (If he’s not, I suppose we have bigger problems. Wink, wink.) You can rest assured that he will not see me IN the dress before then, and thus, we have technically not crossed any “bad luck” barriers, that we technically don’t believe in, but still. For good measure. I should also tell everyone that the dress is also going to be altered some, and will have straps that as of now, don’t exist. They will be hand-beaded, and green, too, and will probably form a from-the-center-halter-wrap, around my neck, which is the best way I can describe it, me being completely dress-lingo inept. But when it happens I will email anyone who would like to be emailed so you can see! what I mean. (Chris will not see it finished. You know, until the church, I mean.)

* A quick note to the actual “guys” in the stands: Thanks! for hanging in there during this, the prelude to the Wedding chapters of my life. Or, if you have already vacated the premises entirely, and are only returning to see if I slipped on my own sappy sentimentality and hopefully broke a bone or two, and maybe there are even! gorey pictures…Well, I understand. And also: keep hanging. I promise! and do hereby solemnly swear that this site is not becoming a Wedding Blog. I could even recount the story of how one of my uncles recently shot and killed a bear, and I touched! it, you know, for a minute, just to prove it.

But first! Back to what is surely not going to be pictures of said bear, who was something like twelve-feet-tall, but not bullet-proof, because this bear was (dead, and also) not Superman, but, on a semi-related note, I did watch that movie tonight (Superman Returns, I mean), and well, I would say bears are more interesting.

(Moving right along then:)

As pre-scheduled, yesterday my mom and I met with a potential caterer. We met said potential caterer (Hi! Scott) at a downtown Starbucks, because it was the only bearable place between his home and ours where we could sit and discuss fruit platters and spinach artichoke dip without having to pay our weight in quarters for parking. And also, because I never miss an opportunity to score a cup of piping hot chai.

After we finished deciding which meat and cheese platters, veggie trays, and myriad other (scrumptious) appetizers made appetizing combinations, I suggested we stop to peek at a bridal shop located just a few blocks down the street. My mom, ever-desiring to make the most of a trip downtown, agreed to humor me.

It was our first attempt at shopping, our first attempt at even looking at considering shopping. Our first visit to a bridal shop, period, since fitting Theresa for her dress in August, that is. It was, in essence, meant to be a “peek stop” for browsing, half-heartedly perusing, nonchalantly milling about in miles of beads and silky fabrics.

One traipse to the Wall O’ Bagged And Beautiful Dresses, one lively conversation with a bridal expert (Hi! Kay), and thirty minutes later,* and a check had already been written.

It’s an extremely functional dress. (Can I get a ) Witness:

It has a front:

And, a back, too:

It also happens to be striking, and these pictures do it no justice, for the green color (It’s green! in color! which is nothing short of rad in and of itself, but also the green) is not so “limey” as it would appear (in these photographs, I mean; the light is a bit strange), but is, in fact, the perfect mellow/unique color of green.

(The preceding description brought to you by, of course, A Completely Objective And Unbiased Opinion.)

Conclusions:

1. Dress shopping is not nearly so awful (and/or difficult) as I had remembered.

2. At this rate, I’m going to be hard-pressed to find something over which to incessantly stress. As of now it’s looking like it might come down to the slim possibility that Chris might not like the ring I choose for him to wear, which, hey! that’s something.

3. Happening upon that (gorgeous, most awesomely perfect-for-me dress at the most random of times, on a mere whim, an “Eh. Let’s go check it out; we’re so close to the store anyway” was predestined. (Thank you, Jesus.)

4. My mother and I are, officially, the best, This Is Your Mission, If You Choose To Accept It, And, Well, Even If You Don’t, So Watch Us Take Care Of Business In Thirty Minutes Or Less shoppers this planet has ever seen. (Save, of course, whomever started the Shopping Network. We shall not encroach upon the kingdom of such a mighty Caesar of Consumerism.)

5. The dress is fugly, and we were hosed.

So? What do you think? You can be honest. I promise not to cry if you say you don’t like it. At least, not in front of you, you big meany.

(I’m totally kidding about calling you a “meany,” of course. I will probably just scowl at you (which you won’t be able to see anyway) and not say anything. (Insert sarcastic winking-face here. That is left-eye winking only. I am unable to equal-opportunity wink. It’s left or nothing here, people. The lame jokes! and occasion for eye-winkage, they just keep on! coming. ))

* No, really. THIRTY. Three-zero. If you count me skipping and jumping and singing about my dress to my mom during and afterward, then (I might be twelve, yes, and also) it might be forty.