Frontwards

Friday 1st March, 2006.

I don’t know if it’s come across thus far, but you should know that I am not altogether very good at being a girl. I mean, anatomically speaking, I suppose I am doing just fine, what with my voluptuous bosom and the baby cooking in my belly and all. But in my habits and my ways I am not very feminine. Which makes it very difficult to spend several hours with three excitable girly women, looking at pretty dresses.

“These,” Kate announced, apparently from inside a sea of fabric, “are beautiful.” She stumbled out of the snare, holding aloft two red chiffony-type dresses with bows on the waist. She held them out to me proudly and questioningly and I didn’t know what to do.

“Um,” I said, looking the dress up and down. “Yes?”

She sighed and lowered her arms. “You really are completely useless,” she hissed. Suddenly Alice was by her side and fondling the dress.

“Oh my God,” she was saying. “These are beautiful.” She, too, looked to me, clearly expecting a reaction.

I shrugged apologetically and they both gave me matching looks of despair.

The two of them were getting on like the proverbial house on fire, which really didn’t surprise me in the slightest because they are similar in many ways. They are both gorgeous and slim and girly and excitable and, most importantly, they both know how to put up with me.

As they were trying on the dresses and chatting between themselves, I took a seat on the chaise longe and gave a long exhale. Linda had enlisted the help of the shop owner to find her an appropriate outfit and I could hear them talking away somewhere in the shop.

It had now been almost an hour and I hadn’t even looked at dresses for myself.

“Ta-daaa!”

I turned to face my bridesmaids and nearly started to cry. They both looked so amazing and perfect and bridesmaidy that it made me quite emotional.

“Yes,” I breathed, standing as they twirled in front of me. “A thousand times yes. You look incredible.”

Finally. The girls were very particular about what they would be wearing. Our colour theme was black, white and red (what else?) but most bridesmaid dresses on offer were pastel shades. Which I can’t say I’m really a fan of but that may be something to do with me being so pale that they make me look like one of those little girl ghosts.

“I love it,” Alice said, checking herself out in the mirror.

“Me too,” Kate grinned, checking Alice out in the mirror. I gave her a look. She gave me the finger. Delightful.

Linda came into the changing rooms with the poor shop assistant following her, laden with a mountain of dresses and jackets. “Oh my goodness,” she gasped. “You both look fantastic.”

So that was that sorted. The bridesmaid dresses were put to one side and the three of us were dedicated to finding something white and satiny.

I wasn’t sure about a white dress when I’m so clearly categorically not a pure and innocent little virgin. I’m a corrupted and pregnant fat slut. But you know what, fuck you. A wedding is a wedding and I won’t get another chance to wear a big white dress so screw you all, I’ll do what I want.

As you may have guessed, I am something of a control freak. In terms of the wedding, I haven’t really been quite so neurotic about things. I don’t care what shape the napkins are or what kind of wine is served, but I’d rather stick needles in my retinas than have a mismatching colour scheme or non-symmetrical place settings. It’s just my way.

And when it comes to finding the perfect wedding dress, even the most reasonable of women can break down into psychopathic witches.

It was by no means an easy feat. We spent all afternoon in that damned shop, inspecting every single white dress that was thrown our way. They all looked pretty much the same to me. The poor owner was clearly tiring of us after almost three hours, having asked me what material I wanted, what style and shape I wanted, what neckline, did I want detail, did I want a train. I told her that I didn’t know what I wanted. I believe she was about five seconds away from hitting me around the face. I think even Linda and the bridesmaids were getting tired of my fussiness.

But then it happened. She presented us with what could possibly have been the last dress in the shop.

It was the one.

You know when you just know? When you just see somebody or something or a dress and you just know that it is the one? Love at first sight. We all know I’m a big believer.

It was white. Satin. Lace trimming. Lace buttons. The skirt was just the right amount of poofy-ness. They told me it was empire-line and sweetheart-neck but I didn’t know what those things meant. All I knew is that this was the dress I wanted to get married in. And when I slipped into it, I had never been so sure of anything in my entire life.

I stared at myself in the mirror for a long time before I mustered the energy to show the others. I just needed a moment to compose myself because it was all becoming so real so suddenly and it was quite overwhelming. I was still me, Daisy Montague, but somehow I was in this world where I was getting married in three days to a wonderful guy who loved me and it hadn’t quite hit me yet just how massive this all was.

I was going to get married. I was about to become somebody’s wife. And this was the first time that I actually felt like a bride and I realised that this was actually going to happen.

The dress was stunning. It was so perfect and it fit so well that I could barely believe it. The material skimmed right over my bump and managed to make my boobs look awesome without them popping out and looking like white-trash. I had honestly never felt so beautiful in my entire life. Cliche and sad, I know. But what can you do.

“Are you ready?” I finally asked, holding the curtain to the dressing room with one hand.

“Hurry up, bitch,” Kate replied sweetly.

I took a deep breath and pulled the curtain back. I was met by four astounded faces. They were all quite speechless. It was amazing.

“Oh my fucksy,” Kate breathed. Okay, so not quite speechless.

“Wow,” said Alice.

Linda just grinned and I saw her eyes fill with tears.

The poor old shop owner beamed at me. “People ask me how I cope with this job,” she said all nicely. “And it’s moments exactly like this that get me through the days.” I didn’t even know the woman, but she looked like she was about to cry as well. Good God. Way to set me off, guys.

Before I know it we were all watery-eyed and I was being told how beautiful I was and how perfect the dress was and I’m just not used to all this emotion. It was quite draining, if you don’t mind me saying. So by the time we arrived home with two red dresses, one white dress, and one black and white skirt-suit for the mother of the bride, I was too tired to even indulge in Frank’s let-me-see-the-dress banter.

Thankfully, though, Kate was having none of it.

I don’t think we need any more bad luck.