In search of the one
CHARLOTTE BABCOCK Special to the Star-Tribune | Posted: Saturday, May 1, 2004 12:00 am
When I offered to treat my granddaughter, Roxanne, to her senior prom dress, I anticipated a fun-filled Saturday morning full of camaraderie and laughter, topped off, perhaps, with a delightful, leisurely luncheon at our favorite little restaurant. We always have a good time together.
I bid hubby "Gramps" a chipper goodbye and picked up Roxanne right on the dot - 10 a.m. Both of us were excited and bubbling over with ideas for the dress. I recalled that the last time I'd had anything to do with a prom dress was when Roxanne's mother went to her senior prom. I made that dress - inexpensively and without undue sweat or tears. Of course, that was 30 years ago and maybe my memories have dimmed a bit.
Our first stop was the super shopping mall and our favorite (and largest) department store. They had a wide variety of models and after plowing through the racks, Roxanne decided on 12 or so she wanted to try on. As the froth, sequins and tulle began to spill over and around the abbreviated door of the dressing room, I couldn't help but think of the time the can of Redi-Whip exploded in my kitchen - globs of whipped cream clinging to everything in sight, like these dresses now. Since it was early in the day, shoppers were sparse and I was able to appropriate the only chair in sight to watch this phenomenal display.
Gee, I thought, this is fun. I can just sit here and watch the fashion show. When Roxanne gets done, maybe I'll look around and try something on.
Well, I was mistaken. After one hour and at least those dozen dresses, there was only one that might - just might - be the one for her, but she felt she needed a more comprehensive assessment. So, after asking the sales girl to hold onto that one, we were off.
We went to every other shop in that very large mall that could possibly carry prom dresses - I think there were six. Some of the shops had chairs to sit down in and some of them didn't and I'm not going back to the ones that are too cheap to provide a measly chair or two. Nothing turned out to be the one so it was time to change locales.
Fortunately, we remembered where we parked the car and I was thankful to be able to reach it. Roxanne wasn't even close to breathing hard.
We drove downtown. There are several shops down there, mostly in different blocks. We visited two and I couldn't stand it any longer. I suggested lunch and Roxanne took me up on it. Boy, can a shopping girl eat. After $20 worth of food - a portion of it was mine, I admit - we finished our walking/shopping tour.
At the fourth shop, I asked for a glass of water because I was perspiring. They brought me a paper cupful and sympathized that shopping with one's daughter for a prom dress is wearing. I was astounded that right there and then I looked preserved enough to be mistaken for a mother instead of a sagging grandmother and I did not waste any breath trying to explain anything because I felt like something the cat had dragged home.
I have not said anything about price, but at the next shop, it came into full focus. They had, in their array of prom dresses, an outstanding creation that was nine-tenths iridescent sequins. We both liked it a lot. Who wouldn't? Besides, they had a comfortable settee to sit on. Roxanne disappeared into a dressing room.
"How much is this one?" I asked from my comfy couch.
"Three hundred and seventy-nine dollars," the clerk replied nonchalantly.
I looked at Roxanne. Roxanne gazed back, glittering before me. She hadn't changed color but I felt fairly flushed.
"Take it off," I said.
"You bet," she moaned.
Since that creation was not going to be the one and we had exhausted the downtown possibilities, we decided to go to a smaller mall way on the other side of town. I took off my left shoe as we drove there. My foot felt like a bloody stump and was undoubtedly damaged beyond recovery.
The dresses at the shops in this mall began to all look the same. The whole scene was beginning to blur. We were both disgruntled and discouraged but trying to maintain our confidence in our ability to conquer this damned dress dilemma.
We had one choice left - a small mini-mall back across town close to the super mall we had scoured so very long ago. I drove there with both shoes off and it was very quiet in the car. The mini-mall was a bust. Roxanne and I sat in the car looking at each other. I was ready to surrender - in fact, had been for a long time.
"I think I liked that very first dress I tried on," Roxanne said,"but it was too big. If they have the smaller size, I'll take it."
I could have bawled. I ran the only stop sign between us and the mall and we were there in nothing flat.
Sure enough, they had the dress in the smaller size. Roxanne tried it on while I stood up clinging to a dress rack because somebody was in the chair. The dress was perfect - the one - except that two of the little spaghetti straps crisscrossing the bare back were a bit too long. No problem. The alteration lady could fix them in a jiffy except that, by this hour, she had gone home for the day, the lucky woman.
I paid the $189 for the skimpy little thing and we agreed to pick it up the following Wednesday. By then, I should be recovered, maybe.
We drove home, where I limped in, longing for a sympathetic, warm welcome from the husband/grandfather.
"God almighty," he said,"surely you two haven't been looking for one dress for eight hours!"
"Gee," said Roxanne, "is it 6:00 already?"