Spring is the season of romance. At least that’s what the purveyors of Valentine’s Day ephemera try to convince us of, and who am I to argue with the hundredweight of heart shaped chocolates that stare up at me every time I visit the drug store to get a bottle of aspirin? The inevitable consequence of all this ‘love’ is that spring is also the season of weddings and the attendant miseries of overly chilled shrimp, bridesmaid’s dresses that manage to hide every part of your body that you’re happy with and highlight every flaw, and the question of what to wear as a guest.
The latter is causing me particular angst at the moment, as not one but two weddings have somehow appeared on my calendar. And despite protestations along the lines of “never again”, last time I attended a set of nuptials both events were inescapable. Equally inescapable, and even more angst inducing, is the fact that my normal color palette of black, black, and associated murky hues is as welcome to a bride as Attila the Hun at a meditation retreat.
My desperation may push me, as it has so many others before, into placing a Lonely Hearts ad, “Wanted: One dress for reluctant wedding attendee. Wish to avoid looking like the mother of the bride or the Easter bunny.”