Even though I had been up since 4:44am, I was still five minutes late to work at the bridal shop. I'm always late, but today there was no excuse for my tardiness. I just couldn't kick it into gear that morning; my brain was functioning, but my mind was off in a fog somewhere. It didn't help that my body was in the painful state of just that...pain...from my G.I. Jane session with Major Pain the night before at the gym.
My Zack-attack pushed me physically, of course, but really more mentally this time. He had me do "box" jumps which consist of standing in front of a stool and then jumping up onto it. Zack's foot was on the base to stabilize the stool while I jumped on and off twenty times. Three sets. Piece of cake, right? Not so much. It wasn't the amount of work that was ahead of me that had me worried; I knew that I wasn't going to survive the three reps of twenty any way. It was the starting aspect of the exercise that had me concerned.
I kept swinging my arms back and forth, saying to myself, "I'm gonna start now...yep, I'm gonna do it," but just couldn't do it. I couldn't overcome the fear of hurling my thundering mass up into the air, overshooting the landing and then pouncing upon Zack like Aslan did to the White Witch at the end of "The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe." However, I did manage to get myself going finally, keeping most of my dignity and cardiac status intact. And Zack was not harmed. I, on the other hand, had to deal with the resulting pain (similar to the aftermath of fifty dead-leggers) for the rest of the weekend.
So, despite not being up to par mentally or physically and being five minutes late, I will have to admit that I looked great in my NY and Co. peach flowered blouse and coordinating jewelry. And I dressed myself, thank you very much. Seeing my reflection in the mirror, I accepted that even though I didn't feel great, I looked good. What a deadly combination...beauty and moodiness.
I should have taken a mental health day, for every one's sake, but alas, I put my big girl panties on and walked on in. Bad idea. The first thing that happened to make me even more miserable was me touching a bride's naked butt cheeks when I was asked to help the seamstress take the bride's petticoat off. As I pulled the slip down over her hips my hands inadvertently skimmed the naked flesh of both cheeks due to the thong that she was wearing. Apparently, she did not read my earlier blog about that subject. Luckily I remained calm, apologized for touching her butt and got out of the room as fast as I could to find the nearest bio-hazard station available.
After thoroughly washing my hands and re-gaining my composure, I went back to work only to more miserableness. I had a bride who was a size 12 pick out dresses in sizes 8 and 10, even though I showed her where the size 12-16 dresses were. Seriously? Did you not listen to the instructions I gave you? Sorry, you're out. Well, I was any way, as I gave her to my boss and promised to take the next appointment. Wrong move on my part. This bride decided that she wanted to work "alone" with her friends and didn't need our help. Figures.
I then worked with a mother of the bride who started off with the same song and dance that most mothers sing. She didn't want strapless and she didn't want to look matronly. And, she wanted a jacket because she didn't want her arms to show. Oh, please, not the arm thing again. Lady, if I find you a dress with those requirements, you're going to look matronly and old. And you're going to look like someone who's waiting in line to get their picture taken with the ship's captain on formal night. Plus, you're going to sweat to death because the wedding is outside in September. Good luck with that. She ended up buying a dress that had capped sleeves; sleeves that are basically just thick straps that cover the top of the arms...the rest of the arms and all their flab are still exposed.
Excuse me while I slice some cheese to go with my fine "whine." It's just that there was no spirit in this cheerleader; it got side-lined the other day when I got called a snake. Usually, I'm "we got spirit, yes we do...we got spirit, how 'bout you?!" But today I took more of a Dr. Phil approach: "...and how's that workin' for you? (being stupid)."
The dark black rain cloud that hovered over me all day managed to follow me home. I figured it out when my little "friend" announced it's arrival later that day. And brought her cramps with her...how thoughtful. But it did explain a lot. A whole lot.
As much as I would have loved to have had a cigarette in one hand and a cocktail in the other, I settled for ibuprofen and some chocolate. The next day I was back at the shop, pom poms in hand. My emotional injury was healing and my spirit was ready and willing to cheer on anyone who came in that day.
I decided to give into the moment, to the experience of being a part of a happy and joyful time in a woman's life. There is too much pain and sorrow out in the world; no need to wallow in it and carry it with me. This little bridal shop is it's own little slice of heaven...to those who venture in as well as to those who work there. For some blessed reason, the owners tend to attract broken people. They don't try to fix anybody, but they do have the sacred gifts of listening, understanding and acceptance. What a rare find among all the coldness that the world has to offer.
I helped two brides say "yes to the dress" and they told my boss that they really enjoyed working with me
and that I made the whole process fun for them. It's amazing how taking the focus off of yourself can change not only your attitude, but also the mood of the people and vibe of the space you're in. This little cheerleader was doing high-kicks (figuratively speaking) and fist pumpin' all afternoon. I helped to cheer my team to victory that day...financially speaking, of course. Stella got her groove back on, and Miserbella got benched for the rest of the game.
A little pre-game ritual of ibuprofen and chocolate didn't hurt either.
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