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The Memorial: Part 1

Natalie’s service was scheduled for Wednesday, which also fell on what would have been the date of my in-law’s 59th wedding anniversary.  The last couple of weeks have been fraught with much planning and busy work, which gave all of us a chance to not think about the actual day of the service.

One of the more pressing issues that I had to face was finding a suitable dress to wear.  Somewhere along the line I stopped being a girl, and dresses were shoved to the far recesses of my closet.  As I perused my options I made note that all of them were armed with shoulder pads.  This will give you an idea of when the last time I purchased a dress.  Here’s a hint: Dynasty was included in the Nielson ratings.

I think dress wearing went out the window with breast feeding and the ensuing toddler years because new mothers need to be able to go from 0 to 60 in 3.6 seconds, and mothers with children named Jensen need to be able to leap baby gates and run from burning buildings.

I headed to Ross (otherwise known as The Underwear Store) with low expectations of finding anything decent.  I loaded my cart with options, only to discover under harsh fluorescent lighting in a 2×2 photo booth that I’m up 2 dress sizes likely due to All The Eating which has brought me a sliver of comfort over the last month or so.

I believe that it was that same dressing room booth wherein I got stuck in the sausage casing also known as swimwear last summer.  I found myself in a similar predicament.  Which leads me to wonder why dress makers think that the general population of women NO LONGER NEED ZIPPERS.

Zippers were a wonderful invention in that one can test a dress to see if it actually fits before committing to getting it all the way on!  There is no choice when trying on a dress void of a zipper because once it’s over your head and your arms are through the holes, if it’s, say, 2 sizes too small, THERE IS NO TURNING BACK.

I’m happy to report that no one was killed or injured as I careened around the dressing area in an effort to escape the dress that tried to strangle me.

And I did find a dress by that famous dress designer, Omar the Tent Maker, in a size one-size-fits- most.  It was a lovely dark purple in a stretchy material with an attached mock coat.  Super comfortable.  Very elegant.  Did not cut off my circulation.

I wish I could say the same about my footwear, because I’ve also sworn off heels since giving birth, and it seems that my feet are also up 2 sizes.  I settled on my high heeled wedge Crocs in a lovely grey color.  And the ensemble wouldn’t have been complete without 2 pairs of control top pantyhose.

I knew that I risked breaking a femur teetering atop the platform shoes, and should I fall, the control top pantyhose would preclude me from ever getting up off the ground.

But at least I didn’t look like Krystle Carrington.

{To be continued}

Mostly because there is a Sister Immaculata story to be told…