Bridal Wars Part Deux

I had narrowed my wedding gown favorites down to three fabulous gowns.

"Time for the big mirror," my consultant excitedly exclaimed.

Oooh. The big mirror. Bring it on. I scooped up my skirt and sauntered out of the little dressing room so that I could compare all three of my choices in the large 3-fold mirror that resided in the central location at the bridal salon.

As I turned the corner, I saw her. A shlumpadinka bride in a shlumpadinka dress, with her three shlumpadinka bridesmaids and her shlumpadinka mother. She was standing in the middle of the mirror contemplating the addition of a chocolate brown sash to her dress. For 15-20 minutes hogging the big, fancy, 3-fold mirror. Over a sash.

I could have saved her the time - the sash looked stupid. The sash looked more than stupid - it looked like someone decided to wipe their poop laden bunghole across the waist of her dress. My consultant politely asked if she could scoot over so we could share the mirror - which most absolutely was big enough for all of us to twirl and admire ourselves in. Ms. Brown Poopy Sash looked at me, and my fabulous mother and my fabulous sister and scooted over.

An inch.

It didn't help that her zoo exhibit of a bridal party didn't budge AT ALL so she really didn't have much room to scoot over.

That's when I got really angry and resorted to child like pouting. My consultant could read the dissatisfaction that this frumpalicious bride was causing me, and brought me over to my own smaller mirror over by the register. This didn't help since standing in front of this mirror meant I was also standing in the path to the ladies room.

More pouting.

I couldn't appreciate my choices in this mirror. I kept seeing the reflection of women that were on the way to the bathroom. I kept overhearing the conversation behind me in the big mirror. My vision of having the best day trying on the best dresses and standing in the best mirror was slowly being destroyed.

"Oh my goodness, the brown sash makes the dress. Like Omigod totally get the sash, it's so beauuuuuuuuuuutiful. You look amazing. Oh wowwwwwwww."

And then I overheard this question:

"What color Chucks are you going to wear?"

Oh Helllllllll No.

Not only was Ms. Brown Poopy Sash super ugly, she was sporting an ugly dress, with an ugly sash AND planning on wearing lame sneakers to complete her fugtastic wedding ensemble.

Why did she need the big fabulous mirror to project her nastiness all over the store? Why couldn't she just be ugly in the single mirror that was near the bathroom? Why couldn't she just pack it in, corral her cattle bridal party, and get the F*CK out of the big fabulous girl mirror so that a fabulous girl (meaning me) in a fabulous dress (my dress) could admire herself?

So I crossed my arms, pouted some more, and waited for the wildebeast stampede to move on.

And when it moved on, I was able to stand in front of the big mirror and admire how freaking AMAZING I looked in my dress of choice.

No nasty brown sash of course.

Holla.