Only a month to go!
My current husband and my son have been fitted successfully with Morning Dress.
I digress a little to ponder on how, some time ago, a superstitious friend informed me that to see a doppelganger was a certain harbinger of death. When I encountered the exact likeness of the Rev Walker in a John Dory fish at the Mevagissey Aquarium, I confess that I felt a little uneasy. However, I'm still feeling OK and hope that the fish is too. I must be going through a
sinister phase of seeing CH lookalikes here and there, because, when we walked into the dress hire place, there was Miss Jukes!
It
was a Betty Jukes, with the same voice even, although with silver hair twisted up into a bun on top. She assessed me with that familiar top-to-toe disapproving gaze.
"I don't really encourage women to attend on this occasion" she said. "I like the men to come in with a list. They give me the list and I tell them what they're going to wear."
"But I do have a list!" I said meekly.
Tapping one foot (remember that?) she waited... My current husband was ashen faced. Henry's mobile bleeped and he fled outside.
"The Blenheim Jacket!"
"That'll be J442, then"
"The black Cavendish trousers, with the Taurus silver grey waistcoat!"
"CT90 with the W9SDD!".
She surveyed my current husband, and assisted him - just like that! - into a perfectly fitting J442. Then she cast an eye over his tummy.
"And what is your waistline measurement? I want the truth now!"
"Er, um" he began. By now, I was desperately trying to suppress giggles. "Miss Jukes" deftly lassooed him around the middle with her tape measure, and there was no escape. He let out an angushed cry at the verdict.
"My waist is 34"! It's always been 34"... It must be 34"! He cast terrified looks over his shoulder as he was led away and placed, with the CT90s in a changing room. I could hear mutterings of "I
am a 34"..." His head emerged from behind the curtain. "And you're no help" he hissed at me. "Why can't you be more supportive?" Supportively, I hissed back that there would be Designer Sticky Toffee Pudding at the reception. Room for expansion would be needed. Hah!
Henry was coaxed back in to be fitted. "Miss Jukes" amazingly switched into jocular Favourite Auntie mode. Nobody as far as I know has hitched up the boy's trousers since the dear ladies at Playschool, but she got away with it. (The trouble is, she confided, mellowing by the moment, that all the boys she fits for prom nights want to wear their trousers at half mast; resulting in irate mothers ringing up about trouser lengths.)
"Now look at youself!" Adjusting and buttoning, she proudly paraded Henry in front of a mirror - transformed from boy-in-stained-and-ripped-garments into the Fabulous Usher that any girl guest would fancy and cosy up to. Oh, how terrific he looked! Oh, how fast we then paid our deposit and fled!
* * *
I've always had a problem with hats. Still bearing a grudge from panamas and velours for the CH Sunday, I've never felt that there was a hat for me... but... Mother of the Bride
! I knew that an Effort was required.
I've been trying on every hat that looked promising in every department store that had a good selection. The Hat hats all came to rest at below-nose level. I found in John Lewis a saucy cocktail effort I liked, but which lacked gravitas... and all were so expensive, when I might not wear the hat again! The M O G had bagged wearing a fascinator...
Then inspiration struck! I found (and let's give her publicity!)
Hilary's Hat Hire in the Yellow Pages. This miraculously expert woman surveyed me and my MOB jacket and silk chiffon trousers and selected a hat from her stock of hundreds. A wonderful hat! A glamour hat! A black hat with a scarlet edging to its brim, a huge scarlet bow and long black feathers! Never did I think I could wear such a hat. How grateful I am to Hilary! Cost, £25, as opposed to spending a lot of money to buy one.
Only snag - I'll have to remove it in order to kiss all the groom's friends... those long tickly feathers, you understand.
