Though we may bitch or make fun of ourselves for being caught off guard when we shouldn’t be by questions that don’t faze the “normal” person, I think that’s the absolute best thing about this whole experience.
That it’s “not normal.”
Exhale with me. Say it again. Doesn’t that feel great? Like… like taking 100 of your closest friends and having them flip a big, fat collective bird at polite society.
Fuck polite society. They’re not paying for this thing. 
OK, I guess I should clarify before I get too sanctimonious. Or rather, I should acknowledge that I realize that by the very virtue of deciding to hold a ceremony, we are falling in lockstep with societal norms.
But the devil’s in the details. And for us, it’s been fun actually dissecting, picking, choosing. It’s like a big old smorgasboard out there, and there’s not much that we feel we absolutely, positively have to put on our plates.
Well, fun, sort of. Though I’ve been employed at various weddings before, I guess I had no idea the amount of moving parts associated with one. That’s why I can’t completely pooh-pooh tradition. Tradition sometimes is a handy crib sheet when the choices become too baffling.
But anyhow, different. Weird. Crazy lezzies, too practical for their own good, somewhat winging it. Let me count the ways. I’ll start with…
No. 1
Spend hundreds on a dress… Fuck it. This suit is nice.
Lizzie has mentioned before the fiasco of trying to get a dress. I don’t know if you’ve fully realized this, but I’m a big girl. Not a big butch girl, as all the cake topper people will have you believe (that should be a whole other entry, why you’d take the step of making a black lesbian cake topper, but she’s gotta be butch). Just a… big girl. OK, OK, probably a “soft butch.” I haven’t worn lipstick in years, I spit on your manicure, I rarely wear skirts. But I love my big breasts and would probably get my ass kicked by a real butch if hard-pressed.
So Lizzie got this pretty Renaissance type dress off everyone’s favorite site, eBay. There was something of a similar style from that same store, and I got that. Hers looks fine on her. Mine… No structure. I looked like a blimp in white.
Ugh. Typical.
I had been toying with getting a suit, but have you ever tried to Google women’s suits? The atrocities that come up… I’m not 90, I don’t want big florals, it has to at least pretend to be the shape of my body. Women don’t have suit stores like men do, so you’re stuck milling around in the plus-size department of Penny’s, sifting past piles of flowy fabric or, worse yet, those shirts with the tie that look like a limp dick around your neck that were popular in the 80s.
I also was looking at prom dresses. There’s got to be something out there that doesn’t suck.
Eventually I fell in love with a women’s cut tuxedo. I don’t think it’s quite a tuxeda, but it’s close. Just bought a tuxedo shirt with darts to go with. Am now in a philosophical debate over the shoes. I used to love chunky platform shoes, but in addition to them being out of style, they really hurt my feet, my feet that are spoiled with daily use of athletic or hiking shoes. Tempted to go with Converses, a la Ellen.
I’ve never exactly worn a suit with Converses before, so I don’t want to seem like I’m dressing up, playing a part.
But then again, isn’t that the point of the big fancy wedding? The bride spends thousands so her dress is the biggest and fanciest, whitest and poofiest, and she lives out her Cinderella fantasy?
Dunno. I’m wrestling with the question. But in the meantime… the suit remains badass.
Leave a Reply