So, there’s this little matter of a bridesmaid’s dress.
So, back in…oh, let’s say it was February, I had to purchase my maid of honor gown for a wedding that seemed really, really far away.  Somehow I ended up with the old, most gnarled sales associate in the tri-state area.  She advised me I was thin.
I thanked her.
She then advised me that I was between a size zero and a size two, which, to this day I don’t understand how that can be physically possible, because I don’t wear a size zero or a size two In Real Life.  In Real Life, I’m old and shop in juniors and always buy Bongo jeans from Sears.  Flare leg Bongo jeans.  Size five.  Or seven.  But always Bongo and always from Sears.  You know, in case you want to be hip like me and shop in juniors when you’re old enough to have a juniors age child.  Maybe I’m exaggerating.
Anyway, so, the smallest size dress they had in the store was a size twelve.  She chip clipped me into the dress and then asked if I wanted a size zero or a size two.  “What’s the size difference?” I asked.
She told she was concerned my rib cage would get in the way.
“Okay.”  I said.  “But is it more expensive to have a dress altered to make it large or to make it smaller?”
She didn’t answer.
“How expensive would it be to get this dress altered smaller if I need to?”
She didn’t answer.
So, I went with the size zero because I figured, my mother could probably let it out easier than have to take it all apart and cut material out.  It seemed logical enough and I assumed it was a moot point anyway because, you know.  I’m the constant dieter.
I cannot for the life of me pinpoint what changed between buying the dress, the dress fitting, and then summer starting.  Because here we are, in August.  And this is how the dress currently fits:

Translation.  It doesn’t.
Yes, that’s my spine sticking out.  And my shoulder blades.  And, if you’re curious, it’s The Toddler’s room and his lava lamp (to the right) and The Hubs’ atl atl in the tube (to the left).  We enjoy all time periods in our house hold.
Anyway, it fits in my waist!  In fact, it’s baggy(ish) in my waist.  It fits in the hips.  Yes.  I’ve gained a few pounds (“lean” muscle my foot), but I didn’t gain pounds there.  Those have not changed.  My ribcage did not get fatty.
Yet, the dress doesn’t fit.
My mother was on the scene.  She examined it and said, “I cannot explain how this dress does not fit.”
Maybe all my working out gave me really….strong….pectoral muscles?
“I’ll fix it.”  My mother said.
Conveniently, we were going on the cruise a few days later.  Yay!  There’s nothing like knowing the dress doesn’t fit and there’s three weeks to the wedding and, what do you mean there’s a chocolate buffet on the Lido deck?
And, despite my prior rationalization, my mother in fact did have to rip the dress apart and resew it.  Twice: once on the left side and once on the right.
The wedding is in two days.  The dress now fits.
I’d say my mother earned the shots and the diet Coke I bought her on the cruise.
So with that disaster out-of-the-way, I just need to write my maid of honor speech.  But…you know, there’s still plenty of time for that.  At least 48 hours or so.
Maybe some impromptu writing time will cross my path.  I have my notebook and pen ready to go.  Actually, that’s all I have ready to go: a strapless bra, a pink notebook, and a pen.  What more does a girl need?
Wine and snacks.  But other than that, not much.  Just think how easy I am to buy for at Christmas.