ball gown. “But these simple ones are
great too!”
Christina swallowed once, then
again, before she finally managed to smile brightly at Kiki. “I see we’ve got
some work to do here!” she said, and led a very bouncy Kiki down the hallway to
a changing room.
The first dress Kiki tried was a
strapless fitted mermaid style, with a smattering of rhinestones dusting the
sweetheart neckline.
“Wow, Kiks !”
squealed Kara (or was it Kissy?) when Kiki emerged from the dressing room.
“That is, like, totally sexy and hot. You’re gorgeous!”
It was true: Kiki was a knock-out
in the gown, and it was totally va-va-voom . Which was
nice and all, but not really what I pictured Kiki in for her wedding.
“What do you think about it, Kiki?”
I asked, determined not to dissuade her until I knew how she felt.
“I’m not sure,” she said, more
serious than I had ever seen her. “I mean, it’s beautiful and all, but I’m just
not sure if it’s quite…”
I took that as my cue. “It’s
gorgeous on you, obviously. You can wear anything. But I see you in something
more sophisticated, more classic. Maybe not quite so sexy, not for your
wedding.”
Mrs. Barker shot me an approving
gaze, and I felt a warm rush of pride.
“You are, like, totally right, Jen.
Totally. God, you are, like, so smart!”
I was feeling pretty good now,
confident, and I decided to take a little more control of the proceedings.
“Christina, I would like to see
Kiki in a ball gown.” I paused, considering. “Let’s try the Sorrento, the one
with the antique lace?”
Christina nodded and led Kiki back
down the hall.
For the next six hours, Kiki tried
on dresses. I saw her in beaded gowns, lace gowns, fitted gowns, ball gowns,
mermaids, sheaths, a-lines. She compared strapless dresses and cap sleeves,
halters and sweetheart necklines. Everything looked good on her. She loved them
all.
After three stores and dozens of
dresses, Kiki was nowhere closer to choosing something than she had been before
we started. But she didn’t seem frustrated or down about it—on the
contrary, she remained excited and enthralled by every single dress she tried
on. Her friends never faltered in their praise or enthusiasm either, though
after the second hour her cousin seemed to be looking for a sharp object with
which to stab out her eyes.
By the time we reached the offices
of NoLimits at the end of the day, I felt ready to collapse. I couldn’t imagine ever, ever
having to do that again.
But I would, of course, because
Kiki still needed a dress, and I was still her wedding planner.
***
Not surprisingly, shopping with
Ginny was a completely different experience than shopping with Kiki. There were
no limos in sight, no mimosas or twelve dollar muffins. Gone too were the
luxurious boutiques filled with simpering salespeople—Ginny, Annie, and I
were trying our luck at a consignment store.
“I can’t believe you’re considering
buying a used wedding dress,” Annie muttered from the back seat of my Jeep as I
drove us into Detroit. “I mean, seriously, Jen. For her wedding .”
“Shut up, Annie,” I ordered. “Ginny
is the kind of bride who thinks outside of the box. Plus, she’s looking to save
some money.”
“Yeah, but used ? That’s just sad.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking
about,” I insisted. “This store has a lot of great stuff in it. A lot of the
dresses were never worn—they were donated after weddings were called off
or plans were changed. And the ones that were used were only worn once. It’s no
big deal.”
I could sense that Ginny, too, was
skeptical.
“Listen,” I told her, turning to
face her after I parked. “If we don’t find anything we like, we move on to plan
B. But I can guarantee you there are some really nice dresses in there, dresses
you could never afford otherwise. And the staff are very professional and good
at what they do. Trust me.”
“Okay,” Ginny said simply. “If you
think
great too!”
Christina swallowed once, then
again, before she finally managed to smile brightly at Kiki. “I see we’ve got
some work to do here!” she said, and led a very bouncy Kiki down the hallway to
a changing room.
The first dress Kiki tried was a
strapless fitted mermaid style, with a smattering of rhinestones dusting the
sweetheart neckline.
“Wow, Kiks !”
squealed Kara (or was it Kissy?) when Kiki emerged from the dressing room.
“That is, like, totally sexy and hot. You’re gorgeous!”
It was true: Kiki was a knock-out
in the gown, and it was totally va-va-voom . Which was
nice and all, but not really what I pictured Kiki in for her wedding.
“What do you think about it, Kiki?”
I asked, determined not to dissuade her until I knew how she felt.
“I’m not sure,” she said, more
serious than I had ever seen her. “I mean, it’s beautiful and all, but I’m just
not sure if it’s quite…”
I took that as my cue. “It’s
gorgeous on you, obviously. You can wear anything. But I see you in something
more sophisticated, more classic. Maybe not quite so sexy, not for your
wedding.”
Mrs. Barker shot me an approving
gaze, and I felt a warm rush of pride.
“You are, like, totally right, Jen.
Totally. God, you are, like, so smart!”
I was feeling pretty good now,
confident, and I decided to take a little more control of the proceedings.
“Christina, I would like to see
Kiki in a ball gown.” I paused, considering. “Let’s try the Sorrento, the one
with the antique lace?”
Christina nodded and led Kiki back
down the hall.
For the next six hours, Kiki tried
on dresses. I saw her in beaded gowns, lace gowns, fitted gowns, ball gowns,
mermaids, sheaths, a-lines. She compared strapless dresses and cap sleeves,
halters and sweetheart necklines. Everything looked good on her. She loved them
all.
After three stores and dozens of
dresses, Kiki was nowhere closer to choosing something than she had been before
we started. But she didn’t seem frustrated or down about it—on the
contrary, she remained excited and enthralled by every single dress she tried
on. Her friends never faltered in their praise or enthusiasm either, though
after the second hour her cousin seemed to be looking for a sharp object with
which to stab out her eyes.
By the time we reached the offices
of NoLimits at the end of the day, I felt ready to collapse. I couldn’t imagine ever, ever
having to do that again.
But I would, of course, because
Kiki still needed a dress, and I was still her wedding planner.
***
Not surprisingly, shopping with
Ginny was a completely different experience than shopping with Kiki. There were
no limos in sight, no mimosas or twelve dollar muffins. Gone too were the
luxurious boutiques filled with simpering salespeople—Ginny, Annie, and I
were trying our luck at a consignment store.
“I can’t believe you’re considering
buying a used wedding dress,” Annie muttered from the back seat of my Jeep as I
drove us into Detroit. “I mean, seriously, Jen. For her wedding .”
“Shut up, Annie,” I ordered. “Ginny
is the kind of bride who thinks outside of the box. Plus, she’s looking to save
some money.”
“Yeah, but used ? That’s just sad.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking
about,” I insisted. “This store has a lot of great stuff in it. A lot of the
dresses were never worn—they were donated after weddings were called off
or plans were changed. And the ones that were used were only worn once. It’s no
big deal.”
I could sense that Ginny, too, was
skeptical.
“Listen,” I told her, turning to
face her after I parked. “If we don’t find anything we like, we move on to plan
B. But I can guarantee you there are some really nice dresses in there, dresses
you could never afford otherwise. And the staff are very professional and good
at what they do. Trust me.”
“Okay,” Ginny said simply. “If you
think
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