I had a strange foray into the wedding industry recently. I suppose it wasn't strange so much as painfully typical, but I feel a little bit like a Martian struggling to understand my new surroundings when it comes to almost anything wedding related.

Making a conscious effort to avoid doing the homework for my god-awful freshman theater class (just...don't ask), I decided on a whim that I would drop by David's Bridal (behemoth of budget bridal wear) for their huge once-yearly dress sale. Sure, it's early, but it's a big sale. I figured I would just be able to browse around and see what there was to see, but apparently that's not how David's Bridal rolls.

I stepped through the door and was greeted by an extremely earnest flaming gay man who seemed to take this whole wedding dress business very seriously. Turns out I should have had an appointment (to go to a
store? what?), but I since I was there anyway he would see if he could fit me in. As I waited I started to wander down aisles of dresses, but I quickly discovered this was a bad idea - the dresses were as dense
as a cornfield and I wanted to make it out of there without requiring a search and rescue team. Luckily I heard the guy talking to my "consultant" - "Her name is Laura and she is wearing a t-shirt that
says Ithaca is Gorges. It is a humorous play on words."

My consultant took me over to a couch where we flipped through a catalog together and she asked me some basic questions...

Her: So, how many bridesmaids are you having?
Me: Oh, that's not really an issue.
Her: No bridesmaids?
Me: No, I'm having bridesmaids, but they won't be buying matching dresses.
Her: ...What? Why not?
Me: Because my friends are human beings, not my personal accessories.
Her: Oh. That's...sweet....

My consultant was clearly very skeptical both of me and the possible commission she might be making off of me.

She took me over to pick out a pair of shoes to use to try on the dress while she went and pulled some things for me to try on. I declined to tell her that I'm most likely going to wear sandals or
flip flops or something under my dress, because I hate high heels and you never see a bride's feet anyway. As I was looking for any random pair of heels in a size 6.5, I overheard another group of women who
were there to pick out accessories. I couldn't tell if the ringleader was the bride or the maid of honor, but holy hot damn you'd think she was training show dogs. No shoes with open toes and everyone must wear
the same shade of pantyhose and do you think they have anything that could make your boobs look bigger because all the other girls have bigger chests and won't that look strange in the pictures? She then
ominously recounted a purported news story in which a groom ran over his best man with his car, and it was about that time that I started to back away.

Ever since I've started with this whole wedding planning endeavor, I've been considering why it is that so many people (not just women - I hate that "Bridezilla" term, it's just another way to minimize
women) are so obsessed with the "perfect" wedding. The "perfect" dress, the "perfect" location, the "perfect" color scheme, all the bridesmaids looking like clones of each other so that your photos are
"perfect." Why this desperate need for perfection?

I was still thinking about this when my consultant came back with the dresses. She had me change into a weird corset bustier type thing and this ugly crinoline Scarlett O'Hara type of slip. I tried on a bunch
of dresses and kept forgetting to put on the shoes, which I suspect tried my consultant's patience. After telling her that I was looking for something simple that would minimize my chest but be otherwise form fitting along my waist and hips, she kept bringing me dresses that totally hid my figure but made my chest look like I could decapitate someone if I turned around too fast. Finally I told her "I don't want to hide my shape. I like my shape. I'd like to be able to see my shape without being drenched in fifty layers of taffeta." And she understood. Off came the stupid crinoline, and she brought me a new dress.

And it was great. It's nothing like I thought I would have chosen, but it makes me look the way I want to look and I feel really good in it.

Still, even though I was thrilled to found such a great dress, I found myself thinking "But what if there's something better out there?" And I had to stop myself, because that's really the crux of this perfection nonsense. When it comes down to it, this is just a dress. If I feel good in it, that's really all that matters. And now I get to stop worrying about what dress I'm going to wear, because it's taken care of, and I'd really rather think about something else.

Without getting overly philosophical, the idea of having a perfect wedding seems almost antithetical to the whole idea of being in a long-term committed relationship. By the time you've decided to make a
lifetime commitment to someone else, you should have dispensed with the notion that anything can be perfect. Striving for perfection can make you overlook the benefits of having a relationship that is very,
very good. Very, very good lasts - perfection is only for pictures.