Ok, so there is no "Libby," but after all the effort and concessions made to this dress, it may as well come with a name (Libby, of course), personality (rigid, unyielding), and source of income (still waiting on that one).
I drove to Atlanta this weekend for my final fitting, which should have been simple, but the bustle had been "added" (as B likes to say) incorrectly. They assured me that they'd have it fixed, pressed, and ready to go the next day, as planned, so I headed back to B's parents house to enjoy a quiet afternoon.
The morning had been wild. I headed out the door around 9am, coming back in several times to a) turn off the air, b) turn off my alarm clock (you're welcome, neighbors), and c) grab a big glass of iced tea for the road. I anticipated having plenty of time to make it to my 1pm appointment. I'd factored in the time change and a 30-minute buffer, but I hadn't factored in Atlanta's crazy night/morning of storms. The bypass was closed off of I-20, sending me into downtown, and then all of Buckhead was without power, turning main stoplights into, at best, four-way stops and, at worst, death traps.
So thrilled I was to arrive at B's house, turn off their alarm system, and settle in on the downstairs couch with a Chick-fil-A lunch and some good TLC fashion-update shows. After a good break, I got to writing thank you notes and working on some wedding things before going out for dinner and wine and baking cookies before B's parents' got home from their vacation.
On Sunday, B's Mom and I ran around town, then ended at the dress store to check the bustle (done correctly!) and take the dress home. She had a moment of panic as we pulled up. "It's going in my car," she asked. I just smiled. "Yep." The look on her face was the same one I'd seen on B's when I'd asked him to drive with my niece in the car for the first time.
We hauled the dress out of the store and let it recline flat in the backseat. B's Mom and I looked at each other. "Your car looks kind of like a hurse now," I said, pointing to the rigid white dress bag that looked (and weighed!) suspiciously like a real person.
Heading home, she drove super carefully, stopping slowly and never slamming on the breaks. I reminded her that I had to take this white-cloaked bad-boy on a two hour interstate journey, but I appreciated her concern. Finally, someone else as afraid of the dress as I was! For once, I felt like I had an inkling of what it was to work for NASA when they move the space shuttle down the main road, driving at a 5 mph pace and stopping all traffic within a mile's distance. Clear the way! The dress is on the move.
We got the dress moved to my car and I headed home, stopping at my Grandma's to drop Libby off, where she'll live until the portraits, then go home with Mom to wait for the wedding day. I got back to my apartment around 9, only to discover that the door was unlocked. Like any crazy girl, I called the person that could do the least to help me: my fiance, who lives roughly 600 miles away. He stayed on the phone while I checked under the beds, in the pantry, on the back patio (in case he'd had a key made and was planning to let himself in from the outside), and, of course, behind the shower curtain. No intruder, only my (now turned dangerous) crazies. How did I leave the door unlocked? I always double-check the handle, a habit that drives B nuts (especially when I do it without thinking after he locks the door). I guess all the in-and-out got me distracted when I left Saturday morning. Still, back to double-checking!
We're at the 40 day mark. I can't wait!