Today I went with my daughter, to see her try on wedding dresses. Luckily, she had already been, with her twin, and so she knew which dress she already loved. And I say luckily, as I still shudder at the memory of shopping with them both, for all things prom. The vast shopping centre in Sheffield, Meadowhall, saw my inevitable breakdown, as we went from one shop to another X one hundred, and back to the first shop to buy the dresses that they both tried on first. The shopping centre is now fondly known as Meadowhell.
So, back to my daughter. Her favourite dress was tried on, and she looked lovely, but unsure. So she tried on another two, also lovely, but not really her. Back to her favourite, and this time, unsure was replaced with confident. And nothing says BEAUTIFUL like confidence.*
There was a dress there that was just under FOUR THOUSAND POUNDS. I mean, you're asking for a slap if you'd seriously consider spending that much, on a dress, for one day. And if I were your dress buying companion, I'd gladly dispense the slap.
And how the hell have I got a daughter that's old enough to be getting married? Dunno. And also, what is it with the mother of the bride crying? If she's happy, I'm happy. Saying that though, wedding dress shopping = no tears. The day = no promises. But then, my youngest daughter called me a frosty bitch the other day. I can't remember what programme we were watching, but I kept my normal TV watching face, whilst she was a mess. I can't make promises either way about how it will go on the day. But I will be wearing make up, so that means unless I want it to all slide down my face, I'd best not. Especially as tears are generally accompanied by snot.
Tomorrow I am picking up a new wheelchair. The situation surrounding this wheelchair to my first, is so different. First time round, despite my very desperate need, I was told I would have to wait MONTHS to just get assessed. To be fair, I did get a phone call from someone about it all. I was asked if I could sit up unaided. When I said yes, I was informed that other people were more urgent, and that I'd have to wait. AGES! I understand that there will need to be a pecking order of desperation. But for every single person needing a wheelchair, it's pretty desperate. So, no choice but to get my own then. I found a wheelchair place, put my order in, and it was built, and my legs for MONTHS, before I even got a call from my local wheelchair services. Moved one county over, and someone, a physio I think, told me I need a new chair. I was sent to wheelchair services pretty much straight away, and it's been weeks rather than months waiting. I'm quite excited actually. Especially as it will have antitip bars. So no more cracking my head on the pavement, or in the garden or pub car park. Can't say I'll miss that......ooh, I wonder what colour it is??
*Confidence = beautiful. Cocky = ugly. Try not to get them mixed up.
That might also earn you a slap.