For those of you expecting a post about education, mental health, or the yoots today, sorry, I have Wedding Tourette's Syndrome. You get wedding.*
It is my spring break. I am so delighted to be spending it at the tailor’s every day. I have been to two different tailors for dress fittings NINE times this week. Nine times.** See, it is my own fault, because in addition to my wedding dress, I wanted a vintage 1950s cocktail dress for the rehearsal dinner. So I found this fabulous dress and thought, “I’ll just get it tailored” and it ended up being the most complicated process ever. I went to my favorite Russian tailor for my sixth fitting yesterday, and the following is an actual transcript of events that transpired:
Russian Tailor (in thick sing-songy accent): Dah-ling. I need to fix. This not right. I take out all lining and fix. Why not? It free country, riiiiigght? I fix. I was to fix yesterday, but had fever of four huuuuundred degree. You understand, dah-ling? Yes?
RB: (surprisingly patient) Yes, but I am leaving in a few days and am hoping to get this done soon. I trust you though. I want it to look right.
RT: You so calm! What do you do, dah-ling? For living?
RB: I’m a school psychologist in [names urban city that makes most recoil in fear]
RT: AHHH!! What age?
RB: Age 11-14.
RT: That worst age! They ripe. How to say? They like ripe fruit….rotten.
RB: Um, I guess they are ripe in a sense, because they are ripe for intervention at that age because they are in between kids and teens.
RT: No. They rotten. No wonder you so caaaaaalm about dress. You so caaaaalm because job so hard. Now I poke you to get reaction about dress. [Pokes me with pin] I poke you now! Ha ha ha!
RB: Um, ow.
RT: There. You have reaction!
So apparently, my job has made me somewhat unflappable when it comes to not sweating the little stuff. I guess when you are faced with true crises every day, a dress debacle is not really a crisis.
OR IS IT?
Stay tuned for Dress, Part II. Because you have no choice. It’s my blog.
*We will return to our regularly scheduled blogs about education and psychology soon, as I am a mere EIGHT days away from being in marital bliss!
**You must say it like they do in Ferris Buehler’s Day Off, when Ferris is “absent” nine times and the principal’s voice echoes, “Niiiiine Timessss.”