Today I went with Bobby (whom, for the remainder of this post, will be referred to as 'Bond') to rent his tux for prom. Bond was measured, tried on shirt and shoes, and ordered his tux in under an hour.
Now, clearly, I am neither annoyed by Bond (hi, sweetie!) nor the tux experience. What I am a bit perturbed by, however, is the fact that all males have this whole formal wear thing SO easy. If I had the luxury of going into a dress shop, giving them my measurements, telling them exactly what I wanted and then receiving everything in a nice little package...I would be ecstatic (and my self-esteem might also be spared, but that is another post).
Bond's prom attire quest involved one store, one Men's Warehouse Employee, one tape measure, one shoe, one shirt, one book of examples, and one salad stained shirt (oh, Momma Mills!).
My prom attire quest involved four malls, nine stores, cranky dress employees, Krystle (an upside, I like her), every highway in Virginia, shattered self-image (...hmm this mirror makes me look fat. Oh, wait, no..that's thanks to Ben and Jerry), Chick-fil-A (also a contributor) and an entire day.
Although it took an entire day and probably a couple years off of Krystle's life (what? it's not like I'm impossible to please or anything...), my dress is now safely tucked away in my closet.
I guess I can finally relax...you know, until June 6th when I am flailing around (limbs freely independent of my body) with bobby pins falling out of my head and fake nails breaking off trying to get ready.
As for Bond? Well, I assume he will get ready in the same amount of time it takes me to put my shoes on and still look wicked hott.
