…right after I washed it. In the washing machine.
(Chill out, people. It’s not like I put it in the dryer or anything. Sheesh.)
For those of you following along, I am planning on making Alice’s christening gown out of my mother’s wedding dress. I have already made two dresses with the same pattern; one was super huge, the other turned out pretty dang cute. I felt confident that I could make this dress after two practice runs. I was psyched up. I got my game face on. I limbered up, stretched my hammies, did a couple of practice swings…
When I finally got to this point, I totally choked.
Normally, when I think of cutting up wedding dresses, divorces or cheating husbands come to mind. I don’t think many people do nice things after taking a pair of scissors to the dress you got married in. My parents are divorced, and have been for like, decades, but I still got all clammy, my palms started sweating and my heart was beating a million miles an hour.
I wish I was kidding.
All I kept thinking was; shit… If I fuck this up, I will forever have that on my conscience. I will have ruined my mother’s wedding dress for no good reason.
But, I closed my eyes (not really) and made the first cut. I wish I could say it got easier after I made the preliminary snip, but I was agonizing over screwing it up the entire time.
Finally, I was done. I cut out all the pieces, laid them nice and neat on the table… Then the second wave of panic set in. Holy shit. Now I need to make something out of this. With my two totally incapable hands.
All the while, my mother’s defiled gown just sat there, in a pitiful scrap heap, taunting me.
Fuck this up, Lisa, and you will have ruined a precious family heirloom. No pressure or anything…
Stay tuned to see how it turns out. Don’t lie. Secretly, you are totally rooting for me to end up with something hysterically awful. All the world loves a failure.