MY daughter is getting married and, as MoB (Mother of the Bride), I needed a suitable outfit - something elegant, stylish, not too froufrou.
This turned out to be a challenge. My first mistake was to look online. Here, glamorous slim-fitting outfits were modelled by slender young women in their twenties. It was so blatantly absurd and inappropriate I turned away in disgust.
Then I went into a shop where a young woman pressed outfit after outfit on me, all hopelessly too small. I begged to get something in the right size - e.g. not 10 or 12 - but she was oblivious to the cries of muffled despair and frustration emitting from the fitting room.
I gave it one last shot and went into a store with a range for the older woman. Alas, I ended up looking like a lace-covered wine barrel.
I retired from the field of battle and called up a good friend who is stylish, savvy and older than me. One who is wise to the ways of world when it comes to shops, clothes and the older woman.
With some dedicated sleuthing from her, a gorgeous frock was found. Her patience tempered my sinking spirits as I dealt with too much exposure to the sight of my ageing body in harsh, unflattering mirrors.
Blithely she told me that drag queens use pink lights when they frock up as the light is kinder to their skin. Perhaps I could let the dress shops know this interesting fact. Perhaps not. Perhaps I should keep my thoughts to myself.
Then shoes were needed and they had to be that elusive blend of style and comfort. It seemed I would have to choose between teetering, pointy-toed high heels or low-rise ones that made me look like a nun on holiday.
Again my friend was called in and after some soothing remarks and refreshments at a coffee shop, we pressed on. She coaxed me, like a skittish horse, into trying on shoes I would never have considered and voila shoes were found.
After all that I am pleased, it looks good, or so I like to think. Now, suitably MoB attired, I will have to navigate rocky and unfamiliar terrain, where I watch my beautiful daughter cross the bridge into womanhood and become a wife. This reminds me, I will need a matching clutch to store my hankies.
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