I went back to the bridal shop with my future Mother-in-law today.  After mulling it over for a week I decided I wasn’t going to be satisfied until I tried the dress on again and made an appointment with the original consultant I worked with.  I wanted her to appease my apprehension and go over the dress in detail, pointing out how alterations can fix this and that…and pretty much just tell me I’m being a fretful little ninny.  Because apparently now I’m posing an English accent on my bridal salon consultant, who, in fact, was not British.

I invited my Mother-in-law along because I wanted her to see my dress and because I wanted her to feel included in the whole wedding process.  And also because she’s a very assertive woman who could help me speak up.

We were going to go for the whole “good cop, bad cop” thing.  But, in actuality, I have trouble even playing the role of good cop.  I’m more of the “oh heck, I totally believe you’re innocent, DNA what?” cop.  Which makes me a friendly person.  But also a really bad cop.

(Gracious cop?  Pleasant cop?  Sociable cop?  Someone’s been using her Word Thesaurus?)

Anyhow, the lady who helped me was more than willing to stand with me for an hour, going over every little detail of the dress, assuring me where it can be taken out and where I’ll actually need it taken in.  She had all kinds of suggestions on how to fix any little thing that seemed out of place to my critical eye.  Basically, how to tweak it to my body.

I can’t even begin to tell you how much better I feel about the entire thing.  I started to feel gorgeous in the dress again.  Like it was made for me again.

So we didn’t need to break out “bad cop.”  And I’m glad about that.  Because my “bad cop” might have offered to pay her house mortgage or something.  I’ll need to work on “bad cop.”

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