Three Weddings, One Silver Dress, & A Brazilian (Part 2)

It’s a month later and one of my friends’ brothers was getting married. I had another dress to wear. The night before, I’d be sleeping at home. No church. Plenty of time. What could go wrong? I was going to wear this really gorgeous red dress. I dropped it in the dry cleaners a few days before. My friend had two brothers, and I had hooked up with the one not getting married, but he was going to be there. Hot was the look for this wedding. Not silver.

Out late the night before, I slept most of the day. Being busy with getting up and then more lounging around, I waited until the last possible minute before dragging ass over to the dry cleaners. While approaching the store, it seemed a little dark. Was it possible? It couldn’t be? But it was. The dry cleaners had closed minutes ago, and now I was screwed once again.

While at the Other Brother’s Wedding, I tried to avoid the brother I had hooked up with. When I saw him, we barely talked. I’m sure he was glad that hook up didn’t go anywhere. I just looked horrible.

Nothing was ever fun while I was wearing the silver dress. And my only way to combat wearing it was to drink. Alcohol really can be a cure-all at times. What else can you do when you’re in a silver dress that your grandmother would wear, but actually you’re in your twenties and somehow it keeps getting worn by you? I shouldn’t insult my grandmother. It was doubtful that she would’ve worn that thing.

I danced with one of the bride’s cousins from Scotland. He twirled and swirled me all over the dance floor in the too big silver dress. The entire time I hoped it would stay up. The dance must’ve been some sadistic Scottish dance that’s done to torment drunk people because the twirling was getting to me. You’d think I would’ve puked on the silver dress with my high alcohol consumption and my stomach sickened by my outfit. That would’ve solved all my problems, I guess. But alas, there was no puking. That dress was indestructible. Me and the dress both survived the night. Puke-free.

A few months later, one of my diva friends was getting married, and I was running late as usual. I was wearing this cute black number. I had driven just a few blocks from my apartment when I saw a spot in front of this great ice cream shop. It would only take a minute to stop, and those church wedding always make me hungry. I drove away, licking my cone, when suddenly there’s a big ice cream drip on my dress. Yea, I know. What fat bastard eats ice cream while on their way to a wedding wearing a tight dress?

Now, I’ve been eating ice cream for years, and I’m very adept at licking ice cream cones without dripping. I don’t think I’ve ever dripped ice cream on myself in my entire life. Even as a kid. No dripping. No kidding. But of course on my way to Diva Bride’s Wedding, dripping occurred. Guess what happened next?

Back in my apartment, I wet the dress like crazy and grabbed the silver dress just in case. Back in the car, I drove like a nut trying to get to the wedding on time. Almost there, I inspected the stain. The black dress was unwearable.

And I was in pain that day for two reasons. One was because the silver dress was about to be worn again. The other was because a friend of mine had asked me if I wanted to be a guinea pig for laser hair removal, and I went there earlier that morning. Not the best of moves, trust me.

TO BE CONTINUED...