I attended a beautiful wedding last week. The bride and groom had clearly worked very hard to plan and deliver a classy affair. Admittedly, the table centres may not be accurately described as ‘classy’ per se – but I for one will certainly never complain about charmingly displayed sweet trees! (In my humble opinion, it simply prevented the event tipping over into being overtly formal, instead making it more accessible to the less discerning guest. Aka ME. I have a weakness for pick and mix; don’t judge.)
Every aspect, down to the last detail, was quite spectacular: the canapés were exquisite (Devil’s on Horseback were my favourite); the bouquet was simply stunning, though ’tis true – wherever peonies are included I am likely to be found swooning; and the first dance was genius. The bride was radiant, her groom was dashing, and their love for one another was simply breath-taking. The service was captivating and everything went without a hitch (excuse the pun). And then it was time for the speeches…
In hindsight, it is quite incredible that for such a large part of the day the bride succeeded in hiding what turned out to be quite a conspicuous issue.
Only when she was pulled to her feet by the groom during his heartfelt words of devotion did the problem become overwhelmingly apparent; no matter how hard their gracious guests tried not to notice…
The poor bride is of generous proportions in the area that most women, most days, would wish to be. Perhaps not, however, on one’s wedding day – and in particular whilst wearing a strapless dress and holding court in front of all one’s friends and family. Yep, probably the one time in a woman’s life that she would prefer to be flat-chested and demure, as opposed to buxom and verging on indecent.
The Blushing Bride
Essentially, what should have been a very lovely dress – fitted, but certainly not immodest – unfortunately slipped. And continued to slip. And kept on slipping. And every time, the poor bride hoicked that heavy fabric back up to an acceptable and seemly level.
Yet almost comically, it went right on making its way back down south.
I hate to harp on, but just in case I’ve not quite given a clear enough picture, we ain’t talking once or twice every few minutes. Read the following aloud and it’ll help you with the mental image of what was unfolding before us:
Slip; hoick; pause… Slip; hoick; pause… Slip; hoick; pause…
That poor girl. My heart went out to her, along with every other guests’ in the room. (How ironic that probably the only person present not to notice was the very one who should be partial to the sight! Sorry, poor taste.)
Forewarned is Forearmed
So anyway, with my dear friend’s blessing (on the understanding that names are withheld, natch), I am using her unfortunate experience to share with my lovely readers the absolute imperative importance of acquiring the correct undergarments for your wedding dress.
It transpires in my friend’s case, that whoever did her up missed the inner built-in bra mechanism (God only knows how as it must have been fairly substantial to contain her bounteous boobies!).
Anyhoo, whilst this could in theory happen to anyone, I want you to be wise to this pitfall long before there is photographic evidence from your wedding day of you – dressed in white no less – displaying more cleavage than Jordan. You’ve been warned!
With all this in mind, I plan to follow up this anecdotal post with recommendations of where to shop and what to shop for, depending upon your own unique requirements. Stay tuned for advice including strapless, backless and halter.
In the meantime, don’t be shy – please come and share in the comments below your own personal horrors or near-embarrassments from your wedding day. Or any other time if you like, a laugh is a laugh is a laugh, right? (If enough stories are recounted, I may even join in with a mishap from my own wedding. And yes, there is visual evidence of that too, though I absolutely do not pledge to share said image!)