Repeat: How I Came to Wear a Turkey Cutlet Bra to the Wedding

Like last year, I am not writing my blog right now because I need to navigate the twins returning to college. I scheduled these posts so the blog wouldn’t be empty and I could have space to process my feelings. A cop-out, but forgive me. Having them go is really, really hard. I need mental space to feel what I am feeling, help the kids through the transition, and sit in the quiet for a moment on the other side.

This is how I came to wear a turkey cutlet on my boobs at the wedding last week.

A month or two ago, I called my cousin with a proposal. She likes to shop; I do not. I needed a floor-length black bridesmaid dress. She met me at the mall with my list of requirements. I had the dress instructions from the bride, a price range, and a request to make the shopping portion of the trip last under a half hour. She moved us through the mall like Michael Phelps in the 100 meter butterfly.

She whipped through a rack of dresses, yanking down two and thrusting them into my arms. She moved through the store, sniffing the air like a meerkat to identify a break in the clothing racks that led to the dressing rooms. I held up the first dress dubiously.

“Really?” I asked.

It was pretty much the most un-Melissa dress you could find. Sleeveless, backless, plunging neckline and black. But it fit.

“We only have 22 minutes,” she reminded me.

Read the whole post here.