Woman devotes a week of her life to finding the perfect dress. Boyfriend devotes a week of his life to documenting the quest – without her knowledge. Why? Because this is what passes for entertainment.
This is a story about one woman’s quest to find the perfect dress. It contains drama, humour and a shitload of dresses. As if that premise wasn’t thrilling enough, this true story features a gripping subplot about one man’s quest to document his girlfriend’s quest for the perfect dress. And if that doesn’t sound sufficiently adrenaline-pumping, catch a balloon to the top floor of space and take a running jump, cos this is all the excitement you’re getting. Any more white-knuckle action and I fear you would end up discharging your bodyweight in spaghetti. Make no mistake: dress-shopping is high-octane stuff, as you’re about to find out.
Girl searches for perfect dress. Girl finds perfect dress. Girl wears perfect dress.
This may not sound like the stuff that blockbuster movies are made of, but then this isn’t Hollywood – it’s a shitty wee blog that coaxes out lulz in cheaper – but equally effective – ways. There are lessons to be learned in every Ed Uncovered blog, but there are also laughs to be had. Let’s start with the latter. The reflective Carrie Bradshaw stuff can come later.
Did you know that I’m a really talented writer who’s super clever and that I’m uber-lucky to have been born with such a gift? I know it because my girlfriend’s always telling me it, and while I don’t buy into all of the superlatives she dispenses (I know it’s not the biggest dick she’s seen), I appreciate the compliment.
When you play in a band, it’s a given that your girlfriend will attend all your gigs, rep your tunes and act as your de facto groupie (but hopefully without shagging your bandmates.) When you’re a writer, it’s easier: all she has to do is read the occasional blog post and laugh at the material you try out on her. That’s all.
In spite of her unrealistically high opinion of my literary abilities, princess (as she will henceforth be known) rarely bothers to read Ed Uncovered. Why? Because reading stuff is too much like hard work; far easier to gush on about your talented writer boyfriend so that other people – i.e. saddos with more time on their hands – can enjoy his work.
Besides, when you’re a busy socialite, there are far more pressing matters to attend to – like choosing the perfect dress.
Today, we’re all going to learn something of interest. You’re going to learn about my girlfriend’s quest for the perfect dress – which is even more scintillating than it sounds. And I, in posting this blog on the front page of Ed Uncovered, am going to find out how long it takes her to actually read it. The story is going to be split into two parts, because dress-shopping is waaaaaaay too exciting for one blog. Today comes part one of The Quest. Tomorrow, I’ll publish the nail-biting finale. After that, I’ll sit back and play the waiting game: waiting to see how long it takes princess to discover the two-part drama her super-talented boyfriend has created in her honour.
In the unlikely event of my girlfriend actually visiting Ed Uncovered, I’ll post an update in the conclusion to part II, detailing her butthurt. If she’s really mad, I may even include a countdown timer displaying the number of months until I’m allowed to sleep with her again.
Never underestimate the lengths a girl will go to in her quest for the perfect dress. And never, ever underestimate the shitty things a writer will do in his quest to attract more readers – even at the expense of his relationship.
Thursday. Nine days before the wedding
I fall asleep at 8am, having spent the night writing a blog entitled 50 Great Names for Vagina. Why? Because I couldn’t be arsed doing the work I was supposed to and writing about sobriquets for the vajayjay sounded like infinitely more fun. It was.
When I finally awake, some time in the afternoon, it is to find an urgent Google chat message awaiting me:
baby can you please respond to my email so i can order my dress before i go to uni at 3pm?
I retrieve the email and am presented with an array of dresses, each vying to become The One. They all look pretty nice to me, though it’s hard to tell whether I’m taken with the dresses or the models. It’s not easy assessing the merits of half a dozen outfits when all you can think is ‘Would bang. Would bang. Oooft. Would definitely bang.’
“yeah im looking at the pic now” I type wearily. “rare skater dress has a vagina on the front”. I’ve just woken up and vaginas are still preying heavily on my mind. Plus it really does look like a vag. Here:
“ANON” she shouts in caps lock (addressing me by name) “Well I won’t be going for that one”.
Dammit! Had I been more alert, I could have trolled her into wearing a vagina around her neck all evening. Princess would have been mortified when I finally alerted her to this and it would probably have ruined her night, but that would have been tempered by the fact that it would certainly have made mine.
After getting over the shock of having shortlisted the vagina dress, she continues:
Did you find out when your parents are coming on Sunday/mon? so i can book my train home?
also narrow down those dresses to 2 please
so i can order so they can be delivered in time
you’ve gotta have me on your arm all night so you have to have input
Clever. Convincing me that my decision matters because, hey, I’m the one who’s gonna suffer if she chooses the Club L dress instead of the Lipsy Dusk. These are the decisions that can ruin a wedding you know.
The quest had commenced two days earlier when an email arrived bearing the title Which dress for the wedding? It read:
These are just the first ones that I have looked at and shortlisted.
They are on ASOS so can look elsewhere too.
Have a look and tell me the top 2 out of these or top 3.
p.s two of them are the same but just in diff sizes so it’s not a trick!
Jesus. I was being forced to endure an audition just to settle on a dress for a wedding. Had it been our own wedding, the quest would have been more understandable, but this was a wedding at which we were only guests, and peripheral ones at that. What’s more, we weren’t even going to the ceremony – we were attending the evening reception. It was only the first email, but already I could sense this turning into an interminable X-Factor-style quest. And if this was getting all X-Factor, that made me Simon Cowell – or worse still, Louis Walsh.
I shuddered and closed the email.
A day later, another message popped into my inbox. It read:
Right so out of the two attachments can you narrow the dress choice down to your fave 2 please.
In addition to the seven dresses she’d previously sent me (of which two were the same but just in different sizes – not a trick), she’d added a purple number that was modelled by some 6/10.
Using my highly-developed dress-appraising powers, I replied:
Lipsy VIP or Little Mistress. My third choice would prob be the bottom right one – satin strapless thing.
The conversation continued:
What’s your fave out of Lipsy VIP or Little Mistress?
The one shouldered one?
oh really? I thought the VIP one was nicer with the gold sequins…
Girls! This is what they do. They make you think you’re helping them reach a decision, when in reality you’re supposed to second-guess them and validate their pre-determined opinion. Get it wrong and the whole process is reset, with another round of dresses assembled for you to clairvoyantly guess.
Two days later, I am presented with an ultimatum: I must whittle her wish list down to two dresses – The Final Two.
After a good three seconds of deliberation, I choose my final two (not to be confused with the final two I’d chosen previously) and type the following words into Google chat: “little mistress and reverse aztec bustier”.
“haha you sound so gay” she retorts, “I’ll get both”.
Phew. At least that’s my decision-making over for another week. Then, two seconds later, she hits me with it:
red, pastel turquoise, pastel purple?
which colour for nails?
Is this for the wedding? For right now? For when she visits at the weekend? Fuck it, it doesn’t matter; aside from red, I have no idea what these colours are.
“pastel turquoise” I type confidently.
“yey that’s the one i wanted to put on”.
I nod smugly – damn, I’m good at this boyfriend shit.
I nodded too soon however.
hmm might change my toes from red to something else
preference for toes?
pink or something?
Trying to be the perfect boyfriend – or even a passable boyfriend – is harder than you’d think.
Conversely, trying to write the perfect blog – or even a passable blog – is pretty damn easy. So much so that I’ve just written two of ‘em – about a bloody dress no less.
Two blogs to detail a woman’s quest for the perfect dress may seem like overkill, but it’s not as OTT as, say, dedicating a week of your life to searching for the perfect dress for the wedding reception of a couple you’ve never even met before.
I may have whittled princess’s shortlist down to two – and then whittled it down to another two at her behest – but the quest is far from over. Oh no.
In tomorrow’s thrilling finale:
- You’ll lol
- You’ll grimace
- You’ll facepalm
Why? Because this is the internet, where every action has to be performed with the maximum amount of hyperbole.
Will princess find her perfect dress? Will the guests be jelly of her super sexy outfit? And will her boyfriend get rumbled for disclosing her quest on Ed Uncovered?
Find out in Part 2.
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