Years ago, when I’d once again waited until the absolute last minute to decide what to wear to an event, I stood in my bedroom ripping through my closet. As I threw dresses and slacks and skirts onto the bed, I spied the periwinkle Norma Kamali sleeveless sheath dress I wore to my brother-in-law’s retirement party a year earlier. Hallelujah! It was still in the bag from the dry cleaner. It was party ready!
Delighted, I pulled out heels and a bag and jewelry. And then, because I wasn’t quite sure about the shoes, I decided I’d slip the ensemble on and see. I stepped into the shoes. Nice toe cleavage. Always a good sign.
Feeling confident I’d ducked a last-minute run to the mall, I unzipped the dress, stepped into it, and started – and stopped – pulling it up in the exact same instant. It didn’t fit and, from the looks of things, had stopped fitting several bags of Tostitos ago.
I burst into tears, called my sister-in-law, Nancy, and sobbing, shared my sob story. To which she responded,
“On my God, Susan. The dry cleaner shrunk your dress!”
The dry cleaner shrunk my dress?
Of course they did.
Everyone needs that friend who always says the right thing.
I love you, Nancy.
In the end, I squeezed into a pair of black pants, a white silk button down shirt, and a black jacket. I looked like the Michelin Man dressed as a maître d and being mistaken twice for a member of the wait staff didn’t help, but at least they served Tostitos.
