Last week I really did have nothing to wear. With my friend Beth’s wedding just two days away, everything in my wardrobe was either too white and lacey (bridey) too worn-a-million-times, or too really-should-have-popped-that-into-the-drycleaners-instead-of-thinking-that-Febreze-would-do-the-trick.
I’m normally a little bit hyper-organised in my wedding outfit planning. I’ve usually got it all sorted about three months in advance (I swear I’m not a loser, I’m just tall. Forward-thinking is a necessity). I’ll probably then change my mind four times in the interim, but at least there’s a PLAN.
But the last three months haven’t exactly allowed for such meticulous planning, and come Thursday, I found myself charging round the shops in Kingston like a woman possessed, desperate to find something for Saturday’s shindig. You’d think that my husband’s brain surgery would have given me a sharper sense of perspective. Apparently it hadn’t.
After wrestling with the tiny sizes in Karen Millen, having a body confidence crisis in the H+M changing rooms (WHAT is that lighting about?!), and wondering if I could justify spending £250 on a dress in Reiss after taking a month off work (I couldn’t), I found myself freaking out in the Monsoon changing room at 5.55pm (it was my third trip there that day), as the doors were about to close. Nothing in the shops had succeeded in covering my bottom, and everything seemed to have a waistline that sat neatly under my boobs.
And then my angels arrived. I’m ashamed to say that in all my flustered panic, I can’t remember their names, but two lovely personal shoppers calmed me down, gave me a hug (yes, they actually gave me a hug), and said that they wouldn’t close the shop until I’d found something to wear. How nice? I felt like (a slightly more stressed out, demonic) Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman.
After they’d brought a few high-waisted dresses and too-short maxis, let me stay on in the shop for a whole 45 MINUTES after closing, and probably wondered if they’d bitten off more than they could chew, they brought me this lovely little tunic dress.
I must have walked past it about a gazillion times without any further consideration, but once the lovely girls/angels-sent-from-shopping-heaven had convinced me to try it on, I decided it was rather ruddy lovely. And less than a hundred quid. So I might even be able to eat this month. Possibly.
During my trip to little sister’s house to show off my purchase (post-shopping bedroom catwalks are the norm in mine and Julie’s world), she dug out this lovely colour-block clutch from New Look. Now I’m never one for matchy-matchy styling, but when colour-coordination is this immense, you’ve just gotta roll with it, right?
Once I’d got home and styled it up with an old H+M jacket, peep-toe heels (purchased during my last pre-wedding breakdown… oh dear, I seriously need to get a grip), some obnoxiously massive headgear and a gallon of fake tan, serenity was finally restored.
And the wedding? Amazeballs. Did you ever see a group shot as cool as this one?
Too much fun. Right, I am now going to send a very happy email to the people at Monsoon and say a big fat THANK YOU to the girls who helped me. No one ever gets the praise they deserve, right?