The style of the wedding was being dictated by Nicolina’s dress. It was taking on the character of an enchanted, “Old World” regal theme.  Forget, Once Upon A Time, this was reality.  It was high time I started looking for my own attire. I had to set my navigation radar to what kind of style and what kind of MOB I was going to be.  I tried to think about MOBs that I could remember.  My first recollection was when I was five and I was actually a flower girl in a wedding. We were in a small country town in West Virginia and there, “the women” all knew how to do something. Your mother would have taught you how to sew, knit, make butter, plant flower and vegetable gardens; they could do just about anything.  I remember being taken to the home of my aunt’s friend.  My aunt was getting married and I was to be the flower girl.  I still have my dress. The underskirt was made of muslin. The flower length gown was buttercup yellow organza all made by hand.  This frothy concoction was sweet for a five- year- old, not so much for a MOB. This reminiscing brings me to my grandmother who was the MOB at that affair.  Grandma Hester wore a hat and her Sunday best, and I’m afraid pointy shoes. She looked lovely for the countryside chapel, to me she was my grandmother, and of course had gray hair.  If you look up gray in the Thesaurus, you’ll see the word ancient, interesting. I didn’t want to be a gray-haired ancient looking MOB. Don’t get me wrong gray hair is beautiful. But when you have it styled like an old fashioned grandmother with a little hat on your head and a matching white pocket book I just didn’t want to be that old- fashioned.

Hmm, so there was the old-fashioned, no “Granny” from The Beverly Hillbillies, thank you.  There was the vintage look, oh so trendy now, and I do love Audrey Hepburn’s hairdo in Breakfast at Tiffany’s.  No this was not a Tiffany’s wedding. There would be no blue, pink only as per our own principessa. Okay, for sure “the Grace Kelly look,” she was refined.  Her signature look oozed elegance, and a bonus, my husband Nick was enamored with Grace Kelly. No not feeling it either, too tailored.  Alright, then there’s royal,  traditional, and then…there was me. I didn’t really fit into a niche; I wanted to create my own. I wanted to be classic, yet I wanted to be of the moment.  After all, didn’t I win “Best Dressed” back in high school?  Wasn’t I a princess on the prom court my senior year? I wanted to see all there was out there for MOB’s and maybe that would help bring out “My Inner MOB.” However, when I started searching, I soon realized what I found was not so much in the way of things geared towards MOBs.

This is how the MOB’s dress hunt started, and the amusing part is mine started out innocently enough just like the bride’s. Nicolina was off to another bridal shop, not surprising for a bride-to-be. Her quest was for bridesmaid’s shoes for a college friend’s wedding.  I decided I would go along and just take a peak, you know a quick look. But I soon found out in bridal shops, there really is NO just looking around. That’s when I was stalked by the sales lady coming at me with sequined dresses.  I should have known not to venture from the wonderful shop where Nicolina got her dress. Yet, here I was, “no, no,” I waved my arms in protest, “I’m just looking.”  I tried to hide behind a big rack but to no avail there it was. “Here,” handing me a stack of dresses, “I think these would be perfect for you,” and I’m thinking, yes for an old dowager look, no thank you!  I am not the Queen Mother of England, I thought. I wanted to be the Queen Mother of Nicolina. She had found her inner bride; classy, fun loving, yes, Princeton raised, Catholic school education, college degree, and a teacher.  I was finding out fast she would be teaching me a few things along the way as well.  She breezed in and out of her daily life with an elegance and style all her own.  She liked things because she liked them not because others’ said she should. She found herself ahead of trends, and then a few months later, they were in all the magazines. Yes, she had fashion sense and decorum.  Her panache clearly defined and integrated was an understated elegance in which she added her own twist here or a turn there just to keep you guessing.

Okay, I think the saleslady got the hint.  Just when I was ready to bail around the corner comes a little ray of sunshine.  “This dress,” Nicolina said, “Mom, this is you!” And I thought why I was trying to figure myself out, when Nicolina clearly already knew.  I saw it in her eyes, yes, that glint that ray of hope and she was really looking up to me, the way you marvel at a statue,  I was “her” MOB and I knew I had to be a different kind of mother now.  It was us together, forging our way through the wedding world.  She whisked me into the fitting room, she unzipped, she unbuttoned, and yes my little bride took over.  She wasn’t looking at me as her saggy mother.  Her petite frame seemed to grow a few inches taller as she hoisted that dress over my head.  Then, I saw it as it cascaded over my face.  It was purple, no it was plum, it was pink, and it was all that and more with a radiant golden hue shimmering from within. Anyway, Nicolina thought it was perfect. She said I looked regal yet classy without trying too hard. The fabric, beading, and all the extra refined elements echoed back to Nicolina’s bridal gown.  She stood back hands on hips matter-of-factly; proud of herself, she had conquered this quest. However, there was a hitch, unlike Nicolina’s dress I did look at the price tag, gulp.  She saw my forehead wrinkle, “Come on, try it on Birdie,” she coaxed as she tried to shimmy it over my hips.  Well the dress barely fit was putting it mildly.  I mean I really sucked in and then sucked some more. Nicolina was undeterred and loudly said “Don’t worry Mom, get it, it will fit,” as if she were trying to get me to take off my training wheels and coast down the street on my own.  I put it on and then I saw it, the reflection in the mirror, she really smiled. She was actually smiling at me, not the make fun of your mother in the dressing room trying on a too small dress look, no a sincere, this is “My Mother” of the bride.  She had faith in me.  Our bond grew yet tighter. Then, the sales lady came in bringing us back to reality.

“Oh you need some MOB shoes.” in a fake cheerful tone she chirped. Blast, the stalking saleslady was back. I thought great.  In she walks with pointed shoes.  “Yuck” is what Nicolina mouthed and turned her nose up, and I couldn’t hide my horrified look. “No, thank you” I said, “But these are silver metallic,” she gestured, holding them up for my perusal.   I was not going to wear some old fuddy-duddy metallic pointed shoes; nostalgia over my beautiful grandmother in West Virginia, God rest her soul, was not going to cut it. I wanted to find my inner MOB shoes.  She took the hint and left the dressing room.

Of course, I got the dress, Montage 19947 After all, Nicolina said it was perfect.  The Bride-to-be had only been engaged a couple of weeks,  I figured I had at least ten more months and hey if the Bride says Mom it will fit well then… anyway, at the least it would give me an incentive to drop some weight.  I mean I wasn’t overweight; I was just a little round around the corners. I had a wedding that I had to be the hostess at for goodness sake, I can do this!

 Once again, that’s when it happened, the “magic.” By the end of the week I had lost a couple of pounds. A month went by; I had lost another five pounds. The weight was coming right off. I wasn’t doing anything specific of different.  Another couple months, I was down fifteen pounds, then, twenty more. This was unreal what was happening? I thought maybe I’m sick, how could I be losing this weight so easily?  I went to the doctor had my blood tested, and got the all systems go, you are perfectly healthy chuckled the doctor.  Well, there is just no explanation for it. Everywhere I went, “wow did you join a gym?”  “Are you on a diet? You’ve lost so much weight.”  What could I say; I’ve lost over twenty-five pounds?  I guess it was the MOB stress diet I answered.

Then, it dawned on me; perhaps, I really should put the dress back on. I was a little nervous thinking gasp maybe it is too big now. I called Nicolina up to my bedroom, again no jokes, no teasing, just “Mom wow you look great” as the dress fell perfectly into place. No, something was happening again. It was the “Grace” being gifted to Nicolina. She knew that was the dress; she knew it would fit me; she had faith in her MOB and there it was that special echo again…It was understood.

“Our Big Fat Italian Greek Wedding” articles are written by Beth Carnevale; a new kind of MOB helping Bridzalina ©moments happen and keeping Bridezilla moments at bay.

 Inspired by Nicolina Carnevale, Bride-to-Be