Oh Seema, if only it would be that simple. I arrive in Atlanta to find the bypass closed off. Hm, that's no good. Probably a huge wreck, but possibly a death; otherwise, I have no idea why or how they could shut down such a huge thoroughfare.
So I navigate downtown and make my way to Peachtree only to find that Buckhead was completely without power. I call B's parents house-- no answering machine. That doesn't bode well. The traffic lights are off entirely, leading people to turn West Paces into some interstate access road, rather than a series of four-way stops. Seriously, doesn't anyone remember that page in the drivers' manual?
I call the dress store and they're open, so I shuffle along in the confused traffic (Note to self: if possible, stay home when power is out) and arrive with two minutes to spare at Priscilla's. I'm pretty sure my seamstress, Seema, double-booked herself, because she was with another bride, leaving me with another accent-sporting member of the Russian dress mafia.
"To try on bustle, yes?" she asked. Yes indeed.
I strip down in front of what must be the tenth member of Atlanta society and slide into the dress. As I remember, it fits like a glove. Seamstress #2 goes to hook the bustle and the problems start. She can't find the "invisible button" on the underside of the dress. Then, as she hooks it, I can tell it's the wrong style of bustle. And, believe it, I'm not being picky-- it's that my style dress won't hang properly with a traditional bustle. It doesn't need anything fancy, just a slight modification, which Seema admitted she must've forgotten. Of course, that was after I forced Seamstress #2 to go get Seema.
They're fixing it tonight and pressing it so I can pick it up tomorrow. They did get the blood out (another story) and, as far as I can tell, everything else is good to go. It's a little frustrating-- you pay for quality in both dress and service, then have to correct something, and something that we paid a rush fee on so I could get it this weekend for the upcoming bridal portraits.
The thing I keep telling myself about these small things that keep cropping up is a) things like this will happen; keep perspective, b) if these are the worst things that happen, then I'm very very blessed, and c) it's all relative. Well, all relative until the bustle breaks and I'm stuck hauling around my dress during the reception.
I guess there was a reason for having four flower girls after all...