Ready, Set, Stop!

Picture this: A coach in a locker room just before game time gives the speech of a lifetime. The team is inspired to such a pitch they’re ready to ram through a brick wall to prove their coach right to believe in them. The excitement of the anticipated competition builds to a loud, thunderous roar as every team member lets out their excess energy. The team rushes to the door, ready to OWN that field, only to stop dead in their tracks because someone mistakenly locked the door. All the energy and unity of purpose that was instilled in the team to beat the opponent is stymied.

Or this: A writer finishes the most inspiring scene in their work-in-progress. They’re so pleased they share it with a friend who tells them it’s the best thing they’ve ever written. The writer basks in the glow all evening, even dreaming up a new scene to follow with the next day. But they check their email first thing in the morning and see a response came from the agent or editor they’d been waiting to hear from. A rejection. No way is that follow-up scene going to be written today.

I guess it’s easy to figure out which analogy is my husband’s and which is mine. The reason this came up is that a Ready, Set, Stop situation happened to me the other day. Have I mentioned my daughter is getting married in just a couple of months? Although this is a day we’ve all been expecting literally for years, a lot of the plans couldn’t have been made until recently.

One of the things I was looking forward to was buying the traditional “mother of the bride” dress. I knew I wanted to wait until after the holiday season because, like my mother before me, I’m frugal (that’s the word she always used but all of us kids would tease her that she was just cheap).

Confident that my frugality would pay off, I went to several stores looking for the perfect dress. And while I did indeed find many sales, I also found the dresses remaining on the hangers after the holiday season are anything but unique, and some cheap in a way my mother never would have settled for.

But then, meeting my daughter at the very dress shop where her bridesmaids ordered their dresses, I tried on several gowns I hadn’t seen anywhere else. They were lovely! But frankly, I was afraid to look at the price tags even as I assured myself they were on sale. An unavoidable glance at one tag told me unless the sale was substantial, I’d have to sell a whole lot of books to make a dent in a downpayment.

Then I saw it. A dress I’d noticed the first time I went to that little dressmaker shop, when the bridesmaids were ordering their dresses. It had been on a mannequin before the holidays, and I could see why the shop owner wanted to highlight it. I still can’t tell you what aspect of the dress is lovelier: the style or the color. The beaded bolero draws the eye first, and the waistline is gathered off to the side, cascading into the most beautiful material I’ve seen yet. It’s a golden turquoise—when you look at it from one angle, it appears gold, but from another, without changing the lighting, it appears turquoise. It’s striking without being gaudy, classy without being ostentatious.

I was so ready. I was so set. Until I asked the price, including alterations.

I left the store without it, but the friendly shopkeeper assured me she’ll hold it for me a few days while I go home and think it over. So here I am, counting my pennies…

Oh, dear. I want that dress.

By this time next week, I’ll have made up my mind. I’ll let you know!