"you're the sort of girl who wouldn't mind getting married in a dress covered with stains"
Thus the woman who runs the slightly eccentric vintage shop that is only open once a week. Yes, barsine, the Mozzer and I went dress shopping yesterday. I behaved like a stubborn small child ("No, I just don't like it!") and the others were very patient. We tried all the fancy frock shops (and even braved the Brown Thomas sale, to no avail) and eventually went to the aforementioned once-a-week vintage place, which was full of very beautiful things. I tried on a 1920s wedding dress (which fit perfectly and would have been a serious contender had there not been a huge and very visible - and uncoverable - snag in the fabric) and a very slinky silver dress before one of the assistants passed me a pile of goldy-cream silk and tulle and told me to try it on quickly. And I did. And it was absolutely gorgeous - a slinky 1930s Hollywood vison with hundreds of tiny appliquéd cream flowers going down one side, and a tulle cape/train thing at the back embellished with the same flowers. And it fit perfectly. There were a few little rusty stains - the sort of thing you usually see on very old silk - on the skirt but the whole thing was so lovely it really didn't matter. It was too long but nothing a pair of heels and perhaps a centimetre or two off the hem wouldn't cure. So anyway, I was kind of amazed it fit so well and everyone seemed to like it - and then the owner appeared roaring that I was to take it off and how it had been promised to some designer who wanted to use it for purposes unspecified, and how she'd just told another customer that it wasn't for sale and then here was I wearing it.
So I changed out of it and handed it back apologetically, hoping the poor assistant who gave it to me wouldn't get into huge trouble, and the woman started chuntering on about how important it was that her client got the dress and then started asking me if it was a for a wedding, and I told her it was, and she kept asking me questions in a kind of demented way and eventually it came out that I was a journalist. And suddenly her manner changed and she started kind of fawning over me, and told me that I didn't really want the dress because of the stains, and when I told her I didn't mind because it was obviously a very old dress she looked at me and said, well, the subject of this post. Cheers, slightly mad shop-owning woman!
Anyway, she told me that if the dress became free she'd give me a ring, but I won't hold my breath. On the plus side, an American woman who was shopping in the store told me it was "privilege" to see me wear it, which surely can't be true, but which was a nice thing to be told, especially after hearing I was born to wear stained rags...