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Country nuptials |
Day 154
A bride to be regailed me with the many aspects of modern marital mores that turns women into bridezillas. One stuck in my consciousness: a sign in a bridal frock shop that warned women that if they lose too much weight in the run-up to the Big Day, they will not be able to demand dress adjustments for their sleeker fit. It is expected that not only the main woman of the moment, but her mother, her groom's mother, and all the other significant females, will be dieting to fit their gladrags. My mother did when I married; she was 69. I, the bride, did not. I was 26, four months pregnant and looked quite bonny.
It is not assumed that men will need to do the same to fit their suits.
Yesterday I was the auntie of the groom. My sister, the proud MOG, had spent a small fortune on a close fitting dress and jacket for the event, and looked gorgeous. I heard her telling someone she'd had to watch her eating habits to fit the frock, but now was going to enjoy the feast.
I hate dressing up. I have one dark green dress, but was dismayed by the way I looked yesterday. The 50 something fat around the middle produces lumps and bumps that protrude outward under the soft cotton of the reasonably close-fitting simple long sleeved shift. My athletic fitness and admittedly lowish body weight and BMI do not a sinuous contour create. There are women in my running age group that have escaped these middleaged fat rolls, over the bra, the pants, around any undergarments that claim to flatter your outline. It's dispiriting, but, I suppose, in the general scheme of things, not something that should really keep one awake at night. Unless manic dieting and subsequent lack of nutrients to the brain have rendered you Bridezilla.
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