This post is an experiment, borne of curiosity and a deep-set worry regarding the condition of my hormonal balance.
Upon visiting Red Lemonade’s site, I found a link to a ‘Blog Gender Analyzer’, entered my blog address and discovered that I am in fact a man. This troubles me deeply, as I had not noticed my manhood before, the whole childbirth thing threw me off scent just a tad. Irregardless, I scored a whopping 76% in favour of the testicular division, and found myself reaching for the Black Bush (not metaphorically, silly, the whiskey!) to help me ponder this fact. I have to take it seriously, you understand.
I will attempt to girlie my blog up a bit in order to re-align myself.
Girly words. I cannot put pink pictures on my blog because I hate pink. I think the default colour for girls should be orange.
The writing of a potentially tedious post about wedding dresses:
What’s all the fuss about?
I announced rather bravely recently that I’m getting hitched in April. The fact that I’ve done sweet Fanny Adams about this since kind of worried me a little bit, so I decided to take the plunge and start looking for wedding dresses… that endless mire of advertising was daunting, it seemed like an epic task was about to follow.
100% bogroll wedding dresses: source
The first place I looked up was Oxfam Bridal on South Georges Street in Dublin. The website had all the contact information I needed, but no pictures of dresses in stock, and a rather alarming plea for desingers to donate samples. I pictured a room with three or four dresses, dog-eared and stained from a night of untold pleasures – I expected to find reams of net curtain in one corner with a measuring tape and some pinking-shears. I fixed an appointment by email which was answered promptly… I felt welcome and I grew curiouser.
As soon as I’d dropped Puppychild into playschool on the dreaded day, I threw the taxi’s roof-sign on the car and zipped into town in the bus-lanes (naughty K8). The shop was easy to find, but was in disguise as a regular Oxfam store which held all the familiar knick-knacks and unwanted treasures and that ever curious home-ish smell. There was no sign of ‘Oxfam Bridal’ bar a poster.
I was greeted and ushered up some stairs hidden in a back room which opened up into a large open plan filled with whiteness. It was the Davy Jone’s locker of wedding dresses and it was far prettier than I expected. A peculiar thing happened in my brain and something clicked – a sudden urge to wear a princess dress decked with diamonds and lacey bits and pretty white ribbons woke within me, an urge which I’d completely forgotten about.
I was suddenly three years old again.
I tried on two dresses. The first was simple, but had a see-through coat which owned a flowing trail instead of the dress, and apparently I couldn’t mix and match this pretty coat – it belonged to a dress more suited to Bette Midler who I most definitely ain’t. *sigh* Oh well, move on.
The second was everything I didn’t think I wanted. I can’t describe it here or post pictures of it for fear of jinxing the TATster, but when I climbed into it and wrestled with its many layers and got all laced up and tweaked and fiddled, it just… became something else. My jeans and jumper suddenly looked like a discarded skin on the floor, the shell from some old life.
A princess with unbrushed wind-swept hair stood before me and the sight caught my breath; I felt like Sarah, that character in the Labyrinth when she finds herself thrown into an unexpectedly beautiful but slightly disturbing scene, except that I certainly didn’t want to go smashing any mirrors anytime soon.
“This is the one. I’ll take it.”
I couldn’t stop staring at the pretty image, it felt like it was made for me. It suddenly occured to me that I should look at the pricetag! Here we go! It’s that typical story… the catch. I wondered suddenly how far I was willing to rise above my €500 limit and searched nervously for the tag.
€375 it read. This money would apparently buy goats for a family in Africa and a rake of books for schools and some farming equipment too, I think. This is a brand new dress we’re talking about here, with many many layers of prettiness. A perfect dress, for €375.
Random Fact… apparently they get a large volume of men buying wedding dresses in this shop. Do with that information what you will.
Oxfam Bridal is a blessing. I know there may be an element of luck in this story, but seriously… what’s all the Wedding Dress fuss about? I laugh in the general direction of those ladies who fork out €2,000+ for a Wedding frock.
I laugh all the way to Thailand and back.
*re-entering of updated webpage into Gender Analyzer*
We think https://cackaloo.com is written by a man (92%)