Death by Chiffon...Almost

A number of years ago, I was in the market for a formal dress. It was during the COVID shut-downs, so I did my shopping online. I ordered a handful of gowns to try on. One of them had this lovely lace-up detail down the back instead of a zipper. Very classy. Very romantic. Very much designed for assistance with getting into it – think Gone-With-the Wind’s-Scarlett-O’Hara-holding-the-bedpost-while-someone-tightens-her-corset kind of design. Gorgeous…clearly, I was born in the wrong decade.

At the time, since I lived alone, no one was available to assist in lacing up the back, so I thought to myself, “I can do this.” (That’s usually where my plans go awry!) The plan was to lace it up loosely, slip it over my head, then pull up on the laces to cinch it up. (Being a bit pear-shaped, stepping into it was not an option.) With my arms over my head, trying to make myself as narrow as possible, I inched it down further and further, realizing much too late that it wasn’t going to fit.

I. Was. Stuck.

The chiffon had me wrapped tighter than a burrito. Arms flailing overhead, shoulders and bust trapped, dignity slipping fast, I tried pulling it back up – nope! I didn't have enough leverage to pull hard enough and I couldn't tug it down. Now I can’t breathe, and my brain decides this is the moment to imagine my obituary: “She died as she lived: dramatic, surrounded by chiffon, discovered by horrified paramedics with her derriere on full display.”

At this point, I think maybe I can just twist it around and undo the laces. That’s when I discover, mixed up in this fabric, trying to turn it around is akin to cross threading a bolt; the more I tried, the tighter it got. Full-on panic set in. I was frantically trying to figure out an escape plan that didn’t involve calling my sister to confess, ‘So… I did a thing.’

I consider the unthinkable: scissors. I had no choice. In the kitchen, I try not to give myself an accidental haircut as I start hacking away at the bodice that's gripping me like I've been vacuum-sealed for freshness. Snip by snip, tiny sequins rain to the floor, the cat chasing them like confetti. Beautiful dress destroyed, dignity mostly intact. Breathing restored. All I can think is, “Thank God, nobody saw that.”

A little grace, a little grit, plenty of laughter,

~Stef