Beech Tree News Network

A few weeks ago, I drove to New Orleans to help my daughter, Nikki, pick out a wedding dress.  I was a bit apprehensive about the trip.  It wasn’t about the drive, I love to drive; although, I do have to keep an eye on my right foot.  It has a mind of its own, and has caused me many dollars in speeding fines.
    I was looking forward to spending time with Nik and her dogs, Dexter and Zissou—a Basenji and a Corgi.  They are funny little personalities, and I knew one or both would end up sleeping next to me.  I hadn’t seen Nikki since last Christmas—she has little time for travel.  I love visiting with her.  She is a wonderful hostess and an excellent cook.  I’m not sure how she does it, but she has a knack for making healthy food taste good—a talent she did not inherit from me.  We share many of the same interests, though, and we both like quiet, something I can always use more of.
    I was apprehensive about the trip, because I was worried that I might embarrass my daughter.  Nikki isn’t one of those girls who just walks in and picks out a wedding dress.  I knew she had scanned several wedding magazines, as well as the internet.  She would know what she was looking for before we entered the first of several wedding boutiques where she had made appointments for us on that Friday.  (She had even penciled in time for coffee at Starbucks and lunch at a nearby mall.)
    Most of my wardrobe consists of sweatpants and tennis shoes, so I went shopping before my trip in an attempt to update my clothing.  I bought a couple of nice shirts with light sweaters and trimmer-looking pants.  I added a pair of black flats and a pair of brown flats—I wasn’t sure we would find the dress in one trip—and I tied everything together with new earrings, hair clasps, and a purse.  I hoped I looked presentable enough so that I wouldn’t embarrass her.
    Nikki invited her fiancé, Thomas,’ mom to go with us.  I met Jean on an earlier trip to the area, and I really liked her.  I was proud of my daughter for being so thoughtful.  Jean has three sons (Thomas is the last to be married), so she had never had the opportunity to shop with a daughter for a wedding dress.  (The fact that Nikki invited her mom and her future mother-in-law with her to pick out a dress did not escape the notice of sales associates, either.  Several commented that it was something they saw less of every day.  Most brides-to-be brought friends along, they told us.)
    I drove down on a Thursday, so I could be rested for the shopping trip on Friday.  The next morning, I rose early, put on makeup, fixed my hair, and dressed in one of my new outfits.  I exited the bathroom to find Nikki in jeans, a tee shirt, and flip flops.   Jean arrived a few minutes later, also wearing jeans, a tee shirt, and flip flops.  I was definitely over-dressed, but it was too late to do anything about it without drawing attention to the situation and causing everyone to feel uncomfortable.
    When we arrived at the first boutique, I noticed that, although the sales associates were dressed like I was, other brides-to-be, as well as their friends were mostly dressed in jeans, tee shirts and flip flops.  I guess there’s a reason they call New Orleans “The Big Easy.”
  Except for the over-dressed part, it turned out to be a wonderful day!  Jean and I sat in plush chairs at upscale boutiques and watched Nikki model dress after dress.  There were dresses with ruffles, dresses with ruching (It has to do with lots of gathering—I didn’t know, either), dresses with trains, train-less dresses, lace dresses, silk dresses, satin dresses, organza dresses then finally, “the one.”  Nikki cried as she caught her reflection in one of the three mirrors in front of her.  That’s how she knew.
We paid for the dress and had money to spare—thanks to my husband, Garey, who suggested paying with cash in order to get a discount.  The three of us went out for dinner with the extra money.
When we returned to Nik’s apartment, I changed into my sweatpants and tee shirt.  Dexter and Zissou curled up beside me on the couch as I had my evening coffee and pastry.  They looked longingly at my cherry Danish.  Nikki keeps her dogs on a strict, dog food-only diet. 
“Stylish clothes are way over-rated,” I told them, as I snuck each one a bit of my pastry.  (Don’t tell Nikki.)