Dear diary, today I met a dress...

Well I'd say I was successful yesterday in playing the part of an unemployed bum. I left Truck at home and I took the bus downtown to visit dress shops and try on $600 gowns I had no intention of purchasing. Yes! I selected fancy dresses off of racks that I knew I could not afford but with no regard for the busy salesgirls I put them and myself into a change room and went to town--what a bum!

Actually, I was on the hunt for a dress to wear to the Good-Wooden Leg winter formal. All the Staff Club executives get two free tickets to the dinner and dance. I was really looking forward to going this year, but, when I abdicated my post on the committee, even though it was only a month away from the event, I also gave up my eligibility for the free tickets. Personally, I thought that was kind of cheap since I did do almost the full year of my duties on the committee. I tried to hint to the committee how disappointed I was that I was going to be missing out on the dance, but no dice. Tonia however was happy to invite me as her date so yay, Cinderella gets to go to the ball after all!

The dress shops I visited cater to brides and her girls first, other random party girls second. Some how I forgot this little fact until I walked into the first store and saw the flurry of white silk. The store was full of girls with sparkly diamonds on their left hands surrounded by giggling best friends and teary mothers. I helped myself to the bright colored party frocks and tried to stay out of the way while simultaneously hoping I would get noticed by someone so they could put me in the queue for a dressing room. The mood ring on my left hand was black, having just come in from the cold. It does not catch the light but instead confirmed my status as a second class citizen there in Romance town.

They do not put mirrors inside of the dressing rooms at these places. No, they put walls of them outside the dressing room so that you must come come out and be fluffed and preened by one of the sales girls. I did have a few legit dresses that I was actually seriously considering. I mean, if you find something that makes you look like a million bucks and you can get it on sale for $200, why not? When I put one on that I felt decent about I decided to brave the outside mirrored room and take a peek. Naturally, the mirror space was mostly occupied. I stood close by my change room door and waited for the fleeting moment when my sparkly pink reflection got its turn.

"That looks really cute," one of the sales girls said to me as she carried a mound of white over her head, back to the sales floor.

I quickly tried on a few other dresses but didn't come out to the mirror with any of them. I knew that there was a line up of girls who hadn't only been waiting ten minutes or so to get into a room, but essentially their whole life. I did not belong there. They were picking out the dress that they would begin the rest of their adult lives in (or at least half of them would, given the divorce rate), I was still just playing dress up.

I went to a few less-busy stores and tried on some things there. The best was at The Bay. Since the girl there seemed bored but excited to help me peruse the more colourful selections I let her talk me into trying a few things on.

I only wish I had my friends there to see these things. I think the dresses weighed as much as I did, with the crinolines, boning and the bead work and all. There was one dress that was figure skating costume on the top half, complete with sheer netting and sparkles in the torso area, but then went into a mermaid costume for the skirt portion. The dinner and dance has a dancing with the stars theme. I wasn't sure if I would be able to walk in that getup, never mind salsa.

The next dress I tried on I actually kind of liked. It was a copper color and again very fitted through the bodice and about three quarters down until it flared out into layers of ruffles. It approximated couture, or at least the closest I will ever get to it.

The dressing rooms at The Bay are just slightly larger than my bathroom and feature three mirrors. I took some time playing around in front of them, striking poses and practicing my dancing. That copper dress was $600. It would never ever be able to come home with me.

I almost didn't go to my last stop. It was on the other side of the street and I had already passed it when I changed my mind and figured, hey, why not? It was a bit like the first place in that it catered to a market I was not a part of, but in the very front of the store, not far from the mats where people were asked to remove their outdoor shoes, there was a rack of discounted party dresses. These racks are rather sad as they are where the torn, the stained and the ugly go. I persevered though and found three items to try. I let myself into a room.

The first two were definite nos. One was too small the other too big. The third dress though was a lovely surprise. I tried it on once and enjoyed it, and then after getting dressed in my street clothes again I decided to put it on once more and actually come out to see it in the three way mirror.

"Ohh, very cute!" The saleswoman said. It was the second time I had heard the remark today, but this time I wholeheartedly agreed.

It was a 60s style bubble dress all in sequins with random flashes of reds, blues and yellows. The straps were spaghetti style in a light pink. It was fun, flirty, dance-y and bright. It was me.

I went back into my room to change and put the dress back on its hanger. It was $150, which was sort of in my budget. The pink trim and straps were a bit dirty (but probably washable) and the polyester lining was snagged in a few places (but not visible). It could also use a bit of taking in on the sides. Other than that, it wasn't torn or stained with lip gloss. Should I really be paying $150, plus taxes, for something less than perfect though, or was there a better option out there? Maybe something already in my closet that I could alter? Maybe I could sew my own version of it?

I left the store sans dress and with the hope that if it is meant to be, I will come back and find it again, perhaps with an additional 15% off. Suddenly paying the price to look like a million bucks wasn't feeling very responsible or sensible. Look like a million, or invest so that you can retire with a million? In the end, it's just a boy, just a dance, just a dress, and those sequins will never sparkle and shine as much as my own eyes do. Le sigh.