Father of the Bride

Sales down at the bridal warehouse are pitiful. No one is making goals. Brides are not buying. Summer weddings are bought for and no one is quite ready to buy for summer 2010. Can you blame them? I wouldn't know what I'd want to wear next week, no less a year from now.

One of these 2010 brides came in last week with her father. When she introduced me to him as her father, I about fainted. He looked way too young to be this girl's father. Did she really mean father, as in my paternal father, or father as in "Dad-Dad-Daddy-O?" She told me her parents were divorced when she was three, so I'm thinking it was a high school sweetheart situation. And maybe they were still in high school when they got divorced. Other than his youth (my age bracket for sure), I also noticed that he was HOT. While trying to focus on my bride, her gown choices, and making sure she felt special and princess-like, I was wondering how to bring up the topic of her father. Would it be inappropriate to ask if her father was available? I was trying to give eye contact and flirt in a professional "I'm not really flirting, but paying attention to your beautiful daughter who is my client" kind of way. I gave the bride my card, as I always do, but should have given one to her dad. Now I just have to hope she comes back into the shop and brings him with her.

Other dating news:

I met a guy a few weeks ago when I went out with the girls after work to a karaoke bar. Mr. Karaoke was paying close attention to our table of girls all night, but not in a creepy sort of way. Gradually, my co-workers fizzled out and I was left standing solo with Mr. Karaoke. Now whether he asked me for my number because we were the only two people in the bar over 40, or whether it was because all of my friends had retreated, or if he actually found me interesting, I'm not sure. But I did give him my number.

He called promptly and we talked for awhile and then he asked me out on a proper date. After doing the scheduling dance for a bit, we determined the following Sunday would work for both of us. The very next day, he called to invite me to his company Christmas Party that Thursday. Apparently, it had been cancelled due to snow storms and they were finally getting around to it in May. Okay, first of all, we had just had a rather lengthy discussion about our schedules and how I wasn't available on Thursday. Was I suddenly going to change plans? More alarmingly, he was asking me to his company Christmas Party as a FIRST DATE. I just find that a bit strange. Everyone is bringing their significant others and he is going to bring someone he just met. "So how do you know Mr. K?" a co-worker might ask. "Oh, we just met at karaoke on Saturday. This is our first date. What can you tell me about him?"

As it turned out our first date (on the originally scheduled Sunday) included a trip to the top of the Space Needle, a dinner at Belltown Bistro and a complete walk to my front door. Now that is a proper date. I was so impressed I almost didn't know how to act! It was really nice.

The next day he informed me that our old Alma Mater was closing its doors and there was a huge gala with closing ceremony and party following the next weekend. I'm not really into old high school reunions, gatherings and the like, but didn't want to be rude about it. Clearly he was pretty excited and really wanted to take me. I tried to play it down and skirt the topic. I thought I successfully avoided the issue, when after our second date (an even nicer dinner at Cutters), he dropped me at my front door again and said "so we're going to have to figure out how to get you to that LHS event." I just laughed, said I'd be out of town and he could tell me all about it.

While I was out of town, he sent me a text message (no he did not "text" me) saying "call me tomorrow and let me know if you're up for going to the LHS party." Sheesh, ya stalker, how many times do I need to say "no thanks?" I explained that due to late flights, me working, unknown schedule, I had to decline, but thank you and let me know how it is.

I finally decided that Mr. K is just one of those guys who feels like he needs to have a date to things. He doesn't want to go into parties and other social situations alone. Why else would he be so insistent on my company to such events? Hope there are no weddings coming up in the near future. I couldn't afford the outfit.

Missed Opportunities:

The other day I was standing in line at a pizza joint for a slice on my way home from work. I had been out of town for a week and had no groceries. I was starving after a full and long day of dressing and undressing brides and didn't want to head into the Safeway hungry or I'd be up and down every aisle buying far too many inappropriate items. There were no pizzas available in the pizza joint and I wasn't prepared to wait and left.

Suddenly, while standing at the corner waiting for the light, the man who I'd been chit chatting with in line at the pizza joint came up behind me.
"Excuse me, are you single?" he asked. Like a deer caught in the headlights, I was stunned by such a simple question to which I was sure I knew the answer. "Uh, not exactly," I said.
He then offered to take me for Thai food across the street. I thanked him profusely and assured him how nice an offer that was and went on my way, leaving him feeling uncomfortable and dejected. I'm, however, walking away guiltily feeling like crap. I could tell from our brief encounter that he isn't my type and it would be wrong to lead him on by accepting his offer of a free meal. However, it'd be mean to say I am single but I simply don't want to go out with him. Later I decided it would have been easy to simply say "I am just starting to date someone and don't feel comfortable going out with others at this time." Why can't I think of that stuff on the fly? Now I'm keeping my eyes peeled for this character in my hood so I can talk to him again. It was a very nice gesture and I want to encourage him to keep up the bold moves.

Barista Boy:
He still uses his low talking, big blue eyed technique of wooing me and suggesting we "hang out." So far Mrs. Robinson is steering clear.

Nothing else going on in the dating or non-dating world. Just waiting for my bride to bring her father back for my enjoyment.

The Not-So-Reality TV

How can people watch that Bachelorette show and take it seriously? Or even find it entertaining as far as that goes? Where's the challenge? Where's the entertainment? You take an already beautiful, young woman, who has a successful career and wants to be married and have a family, make her even more beautiful with designer clothes, professional hair and makeup, introduce her to a dozen (or more?) successful, handsome men who also want to be married and have a family, and see who she picks. Sure each week there is some drama between the contestants vying for her attention. Sure there's the dramatic rose ceremony where she boots out the ones with whom she feels there is no "chemistry." All the while the music is escalating, the drums rolling, and with each presentation of the rose, there are sighs of relief. You'd think something real was hanging in the balance. And don't tell me these people have feelings that are "real" at this point. They just met for crying out loud.

I sound like I know far too much about this show to criticize. I come home from work tired and hungry. Prop my legs up with a big salad and grab my remote. One round of clicking, I discover there is nothing on, but I land on The Bachelorette and like a bad car accident, I can't turn away.

During the commercials I leave the room to change out of my work clothes and get so sidetracked, I forget I'm even watching TV. When I return to my living room I realize I've missed some drama. The Bachelorette is crying about something. What did I miss? I'm annoyed that I'm even watching this show at all, then I'm annoyed that I missed something, and then I'm annoyed that I'm even annoyed about missing some staged drama.

And that Bachelorette seems to always be crying about something. Whenever they show the clips of what happened last week, she is crying. She is crying this week. And then they show clips of next week's episode and she's crying. Okay, ya big baby, you're dating loads of gorgeous boys, in beautiful settings and money is no object. Stop your belly aching.


In my constant effort to come up with new and interesting (and lucrative) reality TV shows, I've got a far better idea. How about taking a middle aged, average looking woman, who lacks a proper career (anyone you might know?), doctor her up to look fabulous on TV (this feat may actually require a doctor), and without revealing to the men (handsome, successful, interesting ones, of course) her lack of career, assets or financial security, see how hard they compete for her hand. That sounds way more fun.

Austin: It's Not Really Texas

Ever since my friend moved from Seattle to Austin two years ago with her accommodating husband and two small children, all I've heard is how wonderful Austin is. "Austin has fabulous weather, Austin has great parks, lakes and nature, Austin this and Austin that. You must move to Austin." During Seattle's miserable rainy, cold winters I'd get daily updates on her whereabouts and wardrobe, "It's 85 F, I'm at the pool in flip flops and bikini!" Anyone I've ever spoken to about Austin insists that it's a marvelous, hip, and liberal minded city. I'm not really doubting that, but my only concern is that it's surrounded by TEXAS.

As an unaffordable, yet seemingly necessary research project, I finally went to Austin to see for myself. On Tuesday afternoon, my friend and her two year old met me at the airport and whisked me off to the beautiful Steiner Ranch where they live. Actually, it's where they live, play, work, go to school, shop, eat out, drink. It's a self-contained community which offers so many amenities no one ever leaves. Seriously, they even have more than one liquor store, and one is a drive-through! How convenient is that for those stay-at-home-moms? My friend assured me she'd show me around and we'd get downtown where the single folks hang. I wasn't worried...yet.

That first afternoon, she gave me a little tour of the area on the way back from the airport, then a tour of Steiner Ranch with a stop off at one of the liquor stores. We headed back to her home where her new pool is currently being built, located inside a gated development amongst other ginormous homes with fancy wancy pools. She and I began with a celebratory cocktail on her balcony with an expansive view of lush greenery (Who knew? In Texas?) and started gabbing. We left to go listen to some of Austin's live music at a local joint in Steiner Ranch, then stopped by one of her friend's homes for a nightcap. One gin and tonic and three bottles of champagne later, we staggered back to hers and tucked ourselves in. We'll start again tomorrow.

The next day was a bit of a slow start. Although the kids were up early and off to school, my friend wasn't able to peel herself off the sofa to go for a morning walk around the neighborhood. I left her to nurse her hangover and went exploring on my own. At 9.30 a.m. the temps were already climbing, but still pretty comfortable for a power walk. When I returned, she was feeling much better so we went for a drive and landed at an exceptional lunch spot, The Oasis, which overlooks Lake Travis.

From there she showed me Mt Bonnell, where we hoisted our very full bellies up a long fairly steep set of steps to see the views of Lake Austin. And there, in the distance, I saw downtown Austin. "We'll get there," she promised. Heck, it's only day two. I'm not worried. Although I did take a picture, just in case.

After our excursion, we went home to prepare for a night out with the girls, live music at the Steakhouse in Steiner Ranch. It was a lovely setting with the sun set in the background, good music and her friends were great fun. Being around all these gorgeous, thin, wonderfully dressed mommies was beginning to give my self-confidence a workout, but I just pushed on and tried not to fret. My friend kept assuring me there were women of all sizes and shapes, but I only saw fit stunning women everywhere we went.

Day three's schedule was to include renting wave runners on Lake Travis, Bunko with the girls and then on downtown for nightlife. Uh oh. Bunko? I'm starting to get concerned now. I know what happens at Bunko and I'm not seeing a trip downtown afterward being too likely. However, I don't want my friend to completely cater to me and give up her entire life just because I'm visiting. She already re-scheduled her kids' school pickups, had friends and family help out with watching them so we could go play, and she had been paying for everything. I offered to go downtown one day on my own so she wouldn't be inconvenienced. She insisted she really wanted to go downtown since she doesn't get to very often. In the end, she decided to skip Bunko altogether. I'm sure her friends were disappointed.

Our night out downtown was fun and included the typical night out activities of music, drinking, dancing, a lot of laughs and 2 a.m. pizza in the cab ride home. I was woken by two little children jumping on my bed giggling and playing. Who can be crabby with that going on? After hauling them off to there perspective schools, we 'napped' for a couple more hours before packing up and heading out. We returned downtown for lunch, a tour of Zilker Park, and a walk around town before my very long flight home (flight delays and layovers turned a seven hour trip into ten hours. Better coming home than going!)

So what do I think of Austin? Well, the homes are big, the cars are big, it's pretty sprawled out, the tempuratures are hot and the women are beautiful, but other than that, it's not really Texas.

It is actually quite beautiful, the people were very friendly. Unlike Seattle where getting a greeting from a passerby can prove challenging, total strangers wave to each other in Austin. I'm sure I could live there happily enough if I had a job. Frankly, if I had a decent job, I think I could live anywhere happily enough at this point.

Neighbor Noise- New Neighbor/New Noise

After a pipe burst in the apartment above me last March, causing water damage to eight units (including my own), the noisy sex couple moved out of their fourth floor "penthouse." I hadn't realized this until I went upstairs to inform all my neighbors about the cat burglar incident and advise them to keep sliders and windows locked.

A man I'd never seen before opened the door, big guy, very friendly, said he just moved in a couple weeks prior. As it turns out, dude snores like a freight train. Which is worse, the noise of something as personal as people having sex, or the constant drone of very loud snoring? At least the sex would end at some point. The snoring continues on all night. The man said "we just moved in" and I'm wondering if he really meant "we". Is there another person living with him? If so, how is she/he getting any sleep? If he's keeping me awake an entire floor below, how can someone right next to him be getting any rest? And I'm only assuming that it's he that is doing the snoring. It is possible that his partner is the culprit.

I've tried earplugs, eye mask, and chamomile tea to calm my nerves and lull me into the most relaxed state before bedtime. But all I can hear is that nasty nasal noise.

One of my favorite and most memorable books from high school is "My Petition For More Space" by John Hersey. In the book the main character, living in an 8 x 12 foot dorm, is standing in a long line to petition for a bit more space. Here I am living in a very spacious one bedroom apartment, all to myself, with a fabulous view, a large balcony, and plenty of comforts and I feel 'crowded' by my neighbors' most intimate sounds. The sounds of sex, sleep, toilet flushing, shower water running just seem like sounds we shouldn't be sharing with total strangers. However, that is apartment dwelling.

Would it be rude for me to anonymously place a box of "Breathe Right" nasal strips outside my neighbor's door? Should I just knock on the door and explain that since he is new to the building, and on the top floor, he is probably unaware that noise travels downward (hint hint) and let him know I can hear everything? Or do I just buck up and buy more effective earplugs?

Marketing to Women 101

Frock sales at the old Bridal Barn have slowed down considerably. We're in that season in between seasons. The majority of the brides getting married this summer or fall have already purchased their gowns and those with 2010 dates aren't quite ready to buy. We are working on the "pebbles and sand" sales as my boss likes to call them. You know, those little sales that are suppose to add up, i.e. veils, slips, shoes, bustiers and tiaras. Tiaras. Now there's a purchase every girl needs to make. Matter of a fact, we should bring the tiara back and just wear them around town with our street clothes. Wouldn't that make us all feel like princesses? Personally, I think my head was made for a tiara. Ask any of my five brothers and I'm sure they would agree.

In an effort to boost sales for the meager number of brides-to-be that do walk through our doors, I thought I'd do some research on what makes people, i.e. women, buy.

My boss advised me to always ask three personal questions about themselves. I do!

1. What kind of work do you do? (Gives me ideas about my own possible career change and network in the process.)
2. Where did you meet your fiance? (Gives me some ideas about where to meet men in this town!)
3. Where are you going on your honeymoon? (Also, gives me some ideas about where to plan my next vacation when I find myself, yet again, between jobs and needing to "get away from it all.")

During my internet search on marketing to women I found dozens of books available on the subject, but none that would just give me the answers I was looking for with a few clicks of my fingers. I'd have to actually march down to the book store and peruse the aisles and do the research. I just really don't have that kind of time. I keep searching.

I find out realtors use tricks like the smell of home baked cookies, a coat of fresh paint, and bouquets of flowers to make a home feel warm and cozy and a potential buyer eager to make an offer. The scent most appealing to men is, apparently, vanilla, so you'll find a hint of vanilla fragrance in many perfumes and lotions on the market today.

I learn some of the most marketable gifts for Valentine's Day are champagne, chocolate and flowers. Unfortunately, we don't have a liquor license down at the Frock Shop, but the other two are options. So last Saturday on my way to work, I picked up a bouquet of soft pink tulips (there is some positive mumbo jumbo with the color pink, but I can't remember now what it is) and chocolates (dark chocolate - it's a health food nowadays) placed in a pretty candy dish my mother left me.

What was the outcome? Well, within my last four days at work I sold one wedding gown, one pair of shoes, the flowers are now wilted and the chocolates are gone.

I read somewhere that techniques such as building trust and rapport, telling personal, yet positive stories, and creating a connection might also work. Sure, they'll work. Over a glass of champagne.

And Justice Prevails

My neighborhood Cat Burglar was nabbed this past weekend and that just warms my heart. Apparently, Mr. CB, barely missing a beat after my confrontation with him, continued his life of crime just blocks away. After two failed attempts, he was picked up and arrested by police on Saturday.

I received a call from the police on Sunday, letting me know they thought they'd captured my guy. On Monday, two detectives came to my office to show me a serious of pictures and take my statement.

I was a little concerned about picking this guy out of a lineup. I didn't really get a very good look at his face. He kept his back to me and his head down. In the past, I've always said I'd be crap at picking a guy out of a lineup. I never even seem to be able to recognize famous people, whether they are local celebrities, politicians or Hollywood starlets. I went to the Sundance Film Festival one year and my friends had to keep pointing out the movie stars. If I did see someone who appeared "Hollywoodesque", I'd ask "is that someone?"

So I wasn't real confident that my identification abilities would do much good. Unless they had a good shot of his hairdo, I'd be screwed.

Also, I didn't figure they'd have five guys who look totally different, i.e. a redhead, a blond, a bearded fella, a 400lb dude and my CB, making is easy for me to choose. As I suspected, the detectives showed up with six photos of clean shaven, dark haired fellas. However, only two had that thick, dark, curly hair and luckily one of those two had the jawline of the guy I had pinned to my front door. I actually picked the right guy! How excited was I when the officers told me that was, in fact, Mr. Cat Burglar.

As I suspected, my laptop is probably long gone. Having been swapped for some quick cash, it has probably changed hands twenty times by now. Minor detail, really. Justice prevails and Mr. CB will spend some time in the "big house" and in some wee way, I feel like I helped put him there.

Sleepless In Seattle

Three years ago, when I found my Seattle apartment, I was so excited because I had a great view of the Space Needle and downtown, and even a bit of the sound from my balcony. It's on the third floor, which is actually four stories up since my building starts with 'G', rather than 1. As a single woman living alone, I was specifically seeking something off the ground floor. Something that felt safe and secure.

My building is a security building, the locks on my doors are substantial, my windows double pane, and my neighbors generally watchful. I've always felt safe. Naturally, I'd leave my windows and balcony slider door open during the nice weather. Who would shimmy up four stories to climb into my apartment? You can see the balconies from the street. For three years I barely gave it a second thought. I'd leave for days with my slider unlocked.

However, that over confident feeling of safety finally caught up with me when last Friday morning at 7.30 I was greeted by a real live "Cat Burglar" in my apartment. I had gotten up, gone to the bathroom (with the door wide open as single people who live alone do) and walked out to my living room to find, squatting next to my television, a man dressed in black. I could only make out his silhouette, not his facial features. It wasn't quite bright enough yet.

Flabbergasted and baffled at first I began asking questions, "What the hell?" "What's going on here?" "What are you doing?" Mr. Cat Burglar was silent and unmoving. I then very firmly and steadily said "GET OUT" enunciating the T's. And then more urgently "Getout! Getout!" Attempting to comply with my request, he slowly stood and turned toward the balcony carrying something in his arms. That's when I lost all sense of reason and began shouting "hey, wait, what do you have? What are you taking?" and chased him out onto my balcony hitting him, screaming, pushing him against the railing and trying to grab the item (which turned out to be my laptop). I continued this madness trying to convince him to drop it, asking him what else he had and swearing at him with a mouth like a sailor. I was basically having this complete conversation by myself as Mr. CB was not speaking to me.

He began to climb over my balcony rail onto my neighbor's, but realized this would pose a problem. He could not retreat the way he came with his arms full of my possessions. He backed out and blocked me rushing back into my apartment. I continued to charge him. For one split second we both stopped short. I was suddenly aware of my vulnerability standing there in my flimsy bathrobe and wondered if he'd pull a gun. He, apparently, realized his predicament of being somewhat trapped in this wild woman's apartment. His goals were to keep his face hidden, his hands on the loot and get out unscathed. He ran for the door and I charged after him continuing my kicking, hitting and screaming routine yelling for him to get out, but not exactly making it easy for him to do so. I still wanted my laptop and whatever else he had taken.

Mr. CB was trapped against my door trying to fumble with the multiple lock system. It was at this point I was considering grabbing his curly dark hair and ramming his head against the door. But something inside me finally snapped. I suddenly became aware of this fella's size, strength and ability. He did, after all, climb up the side of my building. I can't even do a chin up.

Once he managed to get out of my apartment I chased him down the hall and yelled for help. My neighbor from downstairs ran up and asked if I was okay. Said she was going to call the police, but thought I was having a fight with my boyfriend. Of course she'd think that, at no point was I yelling "Help!" or "Police!" I considered this early morning, it's not like I had my wits about me.

Upon telling my little tale to others, everyone has some suggestion about what they would have done if this had happened to them. Is this suppose to make me feel better? "I would have gotten a knife!" one said. Yeah, I've got time to go to my kitchen and fish around my drawers for the one sharpish knife I own.

"I would have kneed him in the balls," was another. Mr. CB made sure his back was to me at all times. Besides, I've heard that doesn't really work because he'd be facing me and have all the control.

"You should have kicked him with your heel on the top of his foot," insisted another. Ummm....please be reminded that I was barefoot and he was wearing heavy duty climbing shoes. Even as I considered how I could hurt him, I realized my current half naked state didn't provide me with a lot of ammunition. Which is why I had to just get him out of there before he decided to hurt me instead. He'd gotten away with my laptop and wallet. Could have been much worse.

Afterwards, a policeman came, then his lieutenant came, then the burglary squad came. Fingerprints were lifted (probably mine), photos taken and statements made. On Monday a follow up policewoman came out to talk about safety tips and commended me for my efforts. Later her sergeant called and sent an email regarding the mess the fingerprint dust made on my carpet. By this point, I was expecting the Mayor himself to pay me a visit.

There has been a rash of similar burglaries in my neighborhood lately. Hopefully they'll catch the guy. Although I never saw his whole face, I definitely would recognize that hairdo of luscious curls and am keeping my eyes peeled.

In the meantime, I'm keeping my slider locked like a good girl, and I still feel pretty safe overall. Just needed to be reminded that this is, in fact, a city and I need to treat it as such.

Text Me When You've Googled Him

Upon scrutiny of my last T-Mobile bill, I decided it might serve me to step into the 21st century and pay for the text message service. I was resisting previously because I didn't want to add any more money to my bill. I had 1000 calling minutes with free nights and weekends for $39.99 (make that $49.99 with tax, fees, tips, excess unknown charges etc.). Still, fifty bones I was willing to pay. But when my last bill came in at nearly $70 I sat down to take a closer look.

Because others not only have text message service, but also use it almost exclusively, I was automatically drawn into this little web of communication. I would regularly tell friends "I don't use text" explaining that, yes, while I do recognize the benefits and convenience of using text messaging (I lived in Europe for 3 1/2 years, remember? That's ALL anyone does there.) I don't want to pay anything extra for it. I get tired of everyone telling me how things only cost an extra few dollars for this or that. All those 'extras' add up.

Regardless of me advising friends and family that I don't use text messaging, new people would inevitably send me messages via text. I am not controlled or stubborn enough to ignore these messages, so I'd open them and read them at 25 cents a pop. And then I'd respond! Another 25 cents. It doesn't take long to rack up an additional "few dollars" with just a small exchange with one or two people.

I marched myself downtown to visit the folks at T-Mobile to find out 1. how to stop these text messages from even coming across my path or 2. how much it costs to join the band wagon.
Needless to say, it turned out to be cheaper to join the band wagon. So now, for approximately $55.00 per month (yes, only $5.00 more) I have 400 or so opportunities to send and/or receive a text message.

Fine. I'll enter the world of text messaging communication. No problem. But I still refuse to use the word 'text' as a verb, i.e. "he keeps texting me," "I texted him yesterday," or "Text him and tell him we're on our way." The actual verb is "SEND", people. As in, "he keeps sending me text messages," "I sent him a text yesterday," and "Send him a text and tell him we're on our way."

"Google" is currently listed in the dictionary as both noun and verb. At this time, text is still just a noun. I realize this is soon to change, but I'm fighting it tooth and nail.

A Holly Jolly Workplace

Although the pay at the 'Bridal Barn' is less than ideal, there are some positives about the job. I'm able to work autonomously with my clients. I take my bride into a private and rather elaborate dressing room fully stocked with bustiers, slips, mirrors all around, veils, shoes, sashes and bows, and extra chairs for their entourage, i.e. mom, future mother-in-law, sisters, best friends and bridesmaids (not always one in the same). In there, she is able to sample bridal frocks to her heart's content, or at least up to two hours, the standard appointment time. We have a fabulous runway for the brides-to-be to strut their stuff and get an even better view of their favorite gowns. It's a professional environment without the 'corporate' feel.

She is my client, my bride. I can chat, joke and build rapport while I get to know her tastes and needs. No one is breathing down my neck or listening to my favorite lines which I tend to use over and over. "That silhouette is soooo flattering on you." "You have the perfect bridal dress figure. Everything looks great on you" (a real crowd pleaser). Or the ever popular response to brides droning on about how much weight they plan to lose before the big day, "oh now, that's no way to live. You look fabulous and your guy loves you just how you are. You want to be able to relax and enjoy your day, which includes eating and drinking champagne!" Everyone loves to hear that nonsense regardless of size.

But the best thing about the job is what a 'happy' place it is. Even now in these times of economic strife when all anyone can think of are their purse strings and the media reminding us daily of the doom and gloom of the world, our clients come in excited and happy to spend a grand or two...or three...on a silk white gown they'll wear once. It's amazing really. Many groups will bring champagne and make a real event of the bridal dress shopping experience.

Sometimes the happy factor can be a little tough even for this perpetually optimistic soul. Remember Cameron Diaz' character in "My Best Friend's Wedding" and all the squealing and carrying on she did throughout the movie? Well, she was my bride a few weeks ago. Even enclosed in our private dressing room, the consultants could hear her squeals of delight throughout the store. Once she found her dream dress (a Sally Crew Satin Ball Gown for $2200) she was so thrilled gazing at her view from the runway, even her friends warned me that she would do a cartwheel if she could. No doubt. I was actually getting ready to duck.

Yet another more subdued, but equally as excited bride expressed her gratitude for helping her find her special gown (another Sally Crew for $1900) by offering me a $20 tip. I wasn't sure if I was allowed to accept tips. But hell yeah, I took it and gave her a hug!

In any case, I have to admit that I don't dread going to work, the clients are happy, excited and generally eager to buy. I usually leave pretty beat, however. All that smiling, lifting heavy dresses and running for eight hours, and pretending to be sincerely interested in the details of an overpriced event is truly quite exhausting.

Who Knew?

Who would have thought I'd be any good at this whole bridal sales thing? Certainly not me. I've never pegged myself as a 'saleswoman.' As a matter of fact, I've purposely avoided sales-type jobs as much as possible. Years ago, in my naive youth, I made a feeble attempt at home makeup sales. No, not Mary Kay, but their competitor, "Beauty Control." I purchased the starter kit for several hundred dollars, booked home parties with all of my friends and co-workers and at most I'd come home with a few lipstick sales. I sucked at it. My dream of becoming a Senior Sales Consultant earning six figures was quickly squelched. Furthermore, much to my husband's chagrin, I was stuck with an expensive inventory of makeup. I spent the next few years trying to recoup the money I laid out, at least a portion of it.

While in Europe working for the tour operator companies, part of my job was selling excursions i.e. island tours, boat trips, Greek and Turkish Nights, pub crawls and tours to ruins. My success rate was a bit better than the makeup sales, but still not what I'd call dynamic. Luckily, it was only a small portion of my job description and I excelled in the other areas so my bosses loved me anyway. Phew.

So based on my past, I've always known that a career in sales was not my destiny. I had considered real estate sales when I first returned to Seattle, however, being realistic about my strong suits, I decided to opt out of that career choice. What made me go into wedding gown sales? Rent. I had to pay my rent and with limited jobs available in this town, as well as others, I had to take what was offered to me. I'd considered a career as a barista, but even that seems to require a Ph.D. in coffee these days.

As luck would have it, I seem to be doing okay with this bridal biz. A couple more gowns to sell and I will have reached my monthly goal. I wasn't even trying. As a matter of fact, when I saw what my monthly goal was I just scoffed at it. How was a brand new consultant who barely knows the difference between a Mermaid and a Trumpet style or can't judge a Taffeta from a Tissue Taffeta by touch suppose to reach that kind of goal? Honestly, I just didn't take it too seriously. Instead, I simply chummed up to my customers and tried to make them feel like I cared about them and their stupid wedding. Apparently, that's the ticket. Who knew?