“What is it, hun? Is everything okay with you and Tanner?”
She pauses with an intake of air. “Tanner? What do you mean? We’re totally fine. It’s nothing like that.”
“Mm-kay.”
Now I’m really confused.
“It’s my bridesmaids’ dresses. They’re hideous. They were supposed to be a nice lavender color and they came out a weird shade of purple! In fact, they look like something Barney puked up.”
I nearly laugh but tamp it down out of respect for April. But what a folly. Aren’t these things part of the whole wedding process? Even best laid plans and all of that.
Maybe I know nothing about wedding planning, but I’ve already been in a few of my high school friends’ weddings. Bridesmaids’ dresses are supposed to be ugly. That’s the point of them so the other women don’t upstage the bride. So unless I’m an idiot, I don’t get the problem.
In fact, last fall I was in my BFF’s wedding on Halloween weekend and she made us wear orange taffeta. There is nothing uglier than that.
“April, I think I’m missing something here. Why can’t you just call the dress shop and have them returned and exchanged? I’d think they’d guarantee your sale and want to ensure the bride is happy.”
Woody is getting anxious and begins to pace frantically in front of me, trying to convince me to get a move on. We’re just at the crosswalk and I look both ways and we head across the street to the small, tree-lined park. Just up around the kids playground there’s a small fenced area that was created as an off-leash doggie play area. I open the gate, bend to let Woody off his leash and feel my smile grow as he runs off chasing another dog.
April’s dilemma seems unfortunate but not unfixable.
“That’s my problem,” she laments. “I ordered them on close-out to save money and they said all sales are final.”
“Oh, that sucks.” Not sure what to say in this situation.
“But I was hoping you’d call the company for me and see if you can get them to exchange them for me.”
My footsteps falter. She wants me to do what, now?
“I’m sorry, come again?”
She heaves a sigh. “Remember last semester where you went up against the school board to fight the dress code for teachers?”
Of course I remember that. It was this old, archaic policy that required female teachers to wear business attire in the classroom and no jeans were allowed. It made absolutely no sense why we weren’t allowed to wear more comfortable clothing. So I took a stand, started a petition and fought for our freedom of dress. It seemed logical and reasonable.
But I would never have considered me to be any type of crusader or someone that raised the rally cry. That’s not my usual MO. I’m typically the one hiding in the back, head down, going with the majority so as not to rock the boat. I think that’s my mother’s doing. She’s always been a force to be reckoned with and not one I could easily go up against to get my way.
But maybe others see me differently because here’s my friend, looking for my assistance because she thinks I am some kind of protesting hero.
“Oh geez. I don’t know, April. That was a one-time thing. I’m not usually that outspoken.”
“Sure you are. You put that student’s parent in their place when they were berating their kid in front of the entire graduating class last spring. You’re badass with your words, Joey. And I would be so grateful if you could at least try for me. Please.”
This gives me pause as I consider the incidents April has reminded me of when I fought for injustice. Those are times I’ll come out of my born-to-be-polite mid-west shell and confront the opposition to get justice served and to give some hell.
Huh. Maybe I am a little badass-y.
I just wish I had a little more of that when it came to getting what I wanted out of a man.
