I have spent a good amount of time extolling the huge differences between men and women. I have waxed poetic on the XY chromosome and it’s unique set of qualities. I have proclaimed my womanhood loud and proud, especially having lived with a house full of men. After all of that, I have to sheepishly admit, I think I have been faking it.
Oh sure, I get my hair done, have manicures and pedicures, am drawn to handbags and shoes and love my share of jewelry. I thought THAT alone qualified me for the girly girl club. However, since my newly appointed role as MOG (Mother of the groom), I’ve had to face the very frightening reality that I don’t know nothin bout being no girl.
Here’s the thing. . .unlike most of my female friends, I hate to shop. Loathe it, in fact. I pride myself on the fact that I usually know what I am looking for, where I want to go to get said item, and generally have a coupon when I go. In and out. The power shopping days where we girls all head to the mall, downtown Chicago or Galena or Lake Geneva are loads of fun. . .for the first block. Then, I’m done. But, I amble along amiably, quietly checking my watch and wondering when everyone else wants to cease with the shopping and go get a drink.
Now, faced with the daunting task of finding the perfect dress for my son’s wedding, I allowed the whole summer to pass knowing I had fall and winter to do that kind of shopping. Fall had to gall to arrive so, unable to put if off further, I finally made the intrepid trip into a bridal salon. I very quietly asked to see what they had in their “Mother Of” section and headed over there to peruse the selection. Apparently people who work in those kind of shops are trained to actually help their clientele. Not one but TWO overly energetic and enthusiastic women swarmed me, bombarding me with questions for which I did not know the answer, “What color are you thinking? Formal? Tea length? Satin? Jacket? What dress size are you looking for?
Size? Well it depends. . .at Walmart I am an L but at Target I generally go for XL. Is that what she meant? Blinded by sequins, I sat down, while the ladies, completely unaware of my mental state, continued to pull dresses from their racks and hold them out for my approval. Well my head simply started spinning and I wasn’t able to escape until the phone rang and one of the women went to answer it while the other went to see what was in back. I hightailed it out to the car in search of a paper bag in which to breathe.
No amount of estrogen can undo all the years of a testosterone driven household and the damage it has done to my “girl”. Thankfully, the Bride and the MOB have consented to help me through this process. . .they know how to power shop. I might need some wine and Xanax but, if they are patient with me, I may discover my girl after all of these years. I think I kind of miss her.
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