Some people like the rain. I’m not one of them. It depresses me. Yesterday it sort of snuck up on me so I wasn’t too bothered by it. Today I woke up to it all dark and ugly outside. It made me achy.
I worked out on Sunday and over did the leg machine and I still hurt.
I know, I know…drink water, stretch, alter days, blah blah blah. I hate working out. I do. I hate getting dressed to go to the gym. I hate driving to the gym. I hate the smell of a gym. I hate the beeping of the machines at the gym. I hate the ‘rush’ you get. I hate the way my body wants to kick my ass for doing something that hurts me in the long run.
So yes, I hate the gym. I’m not going to stop going though and I will tell you the story of why I will continue to go to the gym even though I loathe it.
Last weekend I drug everyone to the bridal show at the mall so we could pick up some books and ideas. I might have also went because there could have been a chance of some sort of chocolate fountain or cake testing.
We headed home after we looked at all the booths and poked fun at the cheezy DJ’s. Shaun saw a bridal mart on the way home and since we were all in the mood, we pulled over and went in.
If you’re in the market for a 1983 wedding dress, we found the place. The dresses were only a hundred bucks and if I looked hard enough I might be able to find something I liked. ONE. I found ONE dress.
‘Cita and I grabbed the dress and headed into the dressing room.
“I don’t know, Kris. This sort has a snag on the front. We would have to get it dry cleaned…” She tried to fix the snag with her finger while I wrestled with the strapless bra they provided.
“For a hundred bucks, I will get it dry cleaned. I’m only going to wear the thing for 4 hours and then it goes in a bag in my closet.”
With some help I got the dress over my head and pulled down to right about my waist.
I pulled down on the hem, but for some strange reason, it wouldn’t go any further than the waist.
Instead of asking what the problem is, ‘Cita grabbed the hem and helped me pull it down, but encountered the same problem as I did. “What the hell?”
She requested that I turn around so she could pull the dress down in the back and since I am SO good at following orders I turned around.
The look of horror on her face made me ask what the problem was.
“Turn around and look.” I did.
My ass. My square ass was blocking the damn dress from coming down. The dress fell like a curtain around my window shaped bare ass. Do you get the picture I am drawing for you? I looked like I was mooning someone from my house window.
I burst into laughter because after the horror of it all sunk in, the humor of it was just too much. “Get it off.” I laughed and now it looked like ‘Cita was trying to save me from a aligator that had swallowed me. “PULL!” and she was…but she was laughing to hard and she couldn’t get a good grip.
After trying to tug the dress off for 30 seconds I said, “Stop. ‘Cita. Stop.” We were giggling so hard that neither one of us was getting to far. “We are going to have to pull it together long enough to get this dress off of me.” we didn’t stop laughing the whole time, but we got the dress off.
As we were walking out the other brides trying on dresses looked at us like we had smoked a bowl in the dressing room. They couldn’t look TOO snooty for God’s sake, they were trying on dresses that I wore during my first wedding 13 years ago!
Whenever we need a good laugh now we will always remember the time in the dressing room when my ass decided that I would not be wearing a 1983 gown at my 2006 wedding.