Slice of Life Timehop ... Some Memories Are Priceless #SOL17

It was four o’clock in the morning.  It was dark, cold and drizzling. We were first in line.  We had four hours to wait.  “What am I doing?” I thought to myself.  “What have I gotten my mother into?”

From the moment I got engaged, every person told me I HAD to get my wedding dress at Filene’s Basement Running of the Brides.  It is just what you do if you live in Boston.  Well, I was from Connecticut and this did not at all resemble how my sister and sister-in-law got their dresses.

I talked to my mom and she said, “Why not?  You will always remember your dress.” Turns out she was right, I still remember my mom and the story of my dress…

It is great we are first in line.  We will be the first in to grab dresses.

Yes, I have done this several times, my friend informs us.   It is key we organize and have a plan.

I had four teacher friends and my mom with me.  This was my dress finding team.  We looked through bridal magazines the previous night, discussing my preferences. We discussed strategy, what I should wear for ease of trying on dresses in the middle of a crowd, and how we would work as a team.  We were ready.

Thank goodness, it’s 5:30 now. Dunkin Donuts is open.  We will get coffees while the rest of you stay in line. We will be back in a minute.

Three friends set off in search of coffee while I look back and see the line behind me getting longer and longer.  People begin to push forward.  I feel my nose press against the glass doors.  I am having second thoughts about being first in line.  This is too much, I think to myself.  This is what I get for bringing teachers with me to get my dress.  They plan, plan, plan … and they don’t take no for an answer.

My team comes back with coffee, steaming hot and regular.  That’s how you order it in Boston.

Do you think we should push back a bit?

Why?  We are first.  It is the best position to be in.

I am a bit worried about getting trampled by the crowd behind us.

Don’t worry.  They have a process.  We will be fine.

I look at my mom.  I know this is not her thing.  She doesn’t like crowds, she is the least aggressive person I know and because she stutters she has difficulty talking with people she doesn’t know.  Grabbing, trading, and talking with strangers were not things I ever saw my mom do, she must be miserable right now.

Guards come out around 7:30 and explain the process.  There will be no pushing.  We will move forward as a group, step by step, until the first group clears the stairs.  Then group one will run.  The process will continue group by group.

We huddle, drinking the last sips of our coffee, and review our plan.  Once inside, my four friends will take off and grab as many dresses as they can carry and deliver them to my mom and me.  My mom and I will find a good central location where we have enough room for me to try on the dresses. The spot needs to be central so we can also begin trading.  Trading is really what the run is all about.

My heart is pounding.  Should getting your wedding dress really be like this?  Maybe we should just leave?  Even if I want to leave I can’t, I am trapped in front of a thousand brides.  I am literally between a thousand brides and their wedding dresses.  This could get ugly.  My self-talk is interrupted by the William Tell Overture blaring over the sound system.  The crowd is now screaming.

Three. Two. One.

The banner rips in two and we are off!  It is a sea of white.  I grab my mom’s hand and we make our way over to find our home base.   We claim a great spot right in the middle of all the action.  There is also a good nook behind us for me to try on dresses and a table next to us to display the dresses we are trading.  We look around and see others claiming their territories.   Now we wait.

Whoosh.

 The first load of dresses arrives at my feet. I begin sorting the dresses just by looking at them and my mom begins unzipping the cellophane garment bags of the ones who make the first cut.  After ten minutes all the dresses in the store have been claimed. It is now time for trading.  While I am trying on dresses, my friends take the ones I don’t want and try to trade them for others I might like.

No.

Not that one.

If you could see the back…

My mom is typically not very opinionated, but today she is a critic.  As my discards go back out into circulation, new ones come in for me to try on.  We have more dresses than anyone else since we were first in line, but none of them are right for me.  It is now a trading and waiting game.

Mom.  Look.

I point and she turns in the direction I am looking.

That’s the dress I looked at in the catalogue.  That store is in Boston. 

It’s perfect.

 I know but she has it. 

It is not going to fit her.  Watch.

 I don’t know how my mom sizes that up from across the room, but the dress is not the right size.  It had been altered for someone shorter.   Next thing I know, my mom is heading over to this bride and asking if I can try the dress on.  Terms are agreed upon and my mom heads back with the dress, the bride, and her entourage.

I try on the dress and I finally know how Cinderella felt when she tried on the glass slipper.

That’s the dress.  That’s your dress.

Even the other brides around us stop to take a look and agree.  The dress and I are made for each other.  My fairy tale moment is abruptly interrupted.

Not your dress.  My dress.  If you want it, your group needs to find my dress.  My mom will hold the dress until you have a dress I want to trade it for.

Well played.  This bride, who only had her mother and one friend with her, now has five more runners to help her find a dress.  She explains the type of dress she wants and shows us a few pictures.  The game to find her a dress so I can have my dress, is on

Nope.

Not right.

Don’t like it.

No.

 After what seems like hours, we are still trying to find a dress that we can trade.   We even find dresses for other brides in the process.  It is beginning to seem like no dress is going to meet the needs of this bride.  We try offering to leave her with all the dresses we have so she can continue to trade without us.  No deal.  She is not letting us, or my dress, go without finding her a dress.

We set out again to trade for another round of dresses.  We return with armloads of dresses and sit down to watch her try them on.  Fingers crossed that one of them will be the one.  I notice my mom is missing.  I get up to look around and the mother of the other bride waves me over.  She whispers in my ear, “The dress is yours.  Have a happy life.”  She points in the direction of the door and I see my mom.  She has my dress – signed, sealed and delivered.

Thank you.

You did your part – don’t worry.

I hope your daughter find a dress she loves.

She will – you have a lovely mom.  I enjoyed getting to know her.

She is great.

It’s rare these days to meet a genuinely nice person.  She is just that.

Thank you.

Now get out of here before my daughter realizes what I have done!

I signal my friends and we head out to meet my mom who has already left the store.

How did she get it?

What did your mom do?

I smile.

Sounds like she did a backroom deal and traded nice.

While I did save a lot of money on my wedding dress - the price tag on my Priscilla’s of Boston dress read $3000.00 and I paid $199.00-  the memory of the day is still priceless.

Clare