*sigh* Monday. It's Monday again. Why God why?!?!?
I guess cuz it has to be.
Granted, I had today off. Not because of the holiday. My company doesn't give us that one off. Nah. I took a few days vacation.
I was honored, over the weekend, to have a visit from my best friend. She lives in Las Cruces and made quite a long trip to get here. Should have gone easy, but due to inclement weather somewhere or other, she languished in the unfathomably ugly Phoenix airport, cutting short our visit time by several hours.
We hadn't had the chance to be together in person for quite a while. October, I think, was the last gathering in New Mexico. She hadn't been this way for years.
The occasion of her visit was to begin her duties as my Matron of Honor (what a terrible thing to call a nice married lady..."matron", feh!).
Those duties included 1) calming my ass down, 2) helping me look at wedding magazines without crying in anxiety and 3) going with me to choose a wedding dress.
It is that last one, the wedding dress one, where she earned her combat pay.
Despite having been in several weddings, I've never had the, uh, agony, pleasure, of going with a friend through the whole dress buying process.
Through the recommendation of a work friend, I found a place in San Francisco (right off Union Square) that you can choose from their "menu" and they make you a custom fit dress. The friend that made the recommend doesn't have a model perfect bod, and I saw her wedding photos. She looked *stunning*. I figured these were the people to work some magic.
Let's review. 1) wedding dress shopping, 2) in San Francisco, 3) off Union Square, 4) getting measured.
I. Was. Terrified.
The good news is, as of this year, my friend has been my best friend for, count 'em, twenty years. Yup, met back in 1988. Oh the lives we've lived since then.
So I felt comfortable in the presence of The Good Man and The Best Friend to say, "I'm scared."
And bless them both, they talked me down, fed me breakfast, told me I'd be great and brought me to the fifth story, blonde-wood floored dress shop feeling strong and confident and loved.
As an aside, let me tell you this bit of Too Much Information. At the shop, they hand you a strapless bra, some really awful gold lamé shoes, tell you to strip down and we'll be right back with dresses for you to try on.
I wore a pair of steel belted control top hose to try to better my chances. So there I stood, shivering in a billowy curtained dressing room wearing black hose, a strapless bra and gold shoes. The urge to wheeze, "anyone want a cocktail" like a Reno waitress was too much to bear.
I stood there, horribly nervous and horribly uncomfortable and I looked over at my friend. She gave me an "it's going to be ok look" and all I could do was bust out laughing.
The laughing stopped when they slipped the first dress over my head. Who knew I had a waist? Who knew I could actually pull off a strapless?
My friend was brutally honest with me on each dress we tried on and after an hour and a half, I think we've settled on a good one.
After that, the rest of the weekend was easy. We did sightseeing and had good eats. I got the rare chance to spend several days with my two most favorite people in the world. And was so gratified to see how well they got along with each other, as well.
I choked back a lot of tears this morning dropping her off at the airport. She has to get home to my two gorgeous goddaughters and her husband as well. I'll see her again soon, but tonight my heart aches.
I miss my best friend, each day, very much.
Together she and I have learned a lot of lessons.
The most recent, from the dress shop employee.
The key to femininity is:
Spanx and a sash.
And she's not lying, that sh*t can work wonders!
Most people in this world, if asked to make a party list, can fill a page with a list of friends. I cannot. I have very few friends, but the friends I do have mean everything to me. They are more than friends, they are family.
For that, I am grateful.
Add to that, my friend carted a bag of Hatch grown green chile out here and whipped up a batch of rellenos Sunday night that would make you cry (and I think The Good Man and I did weep, just a little, in gratitude). THAT is love.
Photo below to make you drool.
