The front desk girl told her it would be 2 1/2 hours until a room opened up. So we sat outside on the curb and zipped our knee-high boots back up. "What snobs! Making me take off my shoes then telling you it'll take two and a half hours!" one of us complained. Amber's friend was along as well, and her GPS told us of a bridal outlet within ten miles. We got excited thinking of a clean and organized outlet with Vera Wang and Monique Lhuiller dresses priced at $200 in perfect condition except for a gold line through the tag.
Yes, we dream unrealistically. Instead, we were greeted with this:
"Atleast they won't make us take our shoes off in here," I muttered. I was wrong. We had to take off our shoes and let our socks soak into the church fellowship hall carpet sweat-stained by countless discount shoppers in a place where wedding dresses were covered in face makeup and pit stains and kids' jam hands. I snapped a bootleg photo of the inside because I know a blog op when I see one:
After laughing manically at the selection, we left for some lunch and waited for the normal place to call us. The snobby ones with a 2 1/2 hour wait. Neither one is our people, we're somewhere in between. But given the choice, we both prefer a place without hypodermic needles under the racks. But Amber couldn't leave until she tried on a dress:
And I couldn't leave without this photo:
The whole escapade made me realize that buying my wedding dress online might not have been such a stupid idea after all.