Dodging a bullet

Earlier this week, my mother called me because she had seen an ad in the Post for a big wedding dress sale at Filene’s Basement, one of those events where they truck in loads of dresses. She thought I should go. I tried to convince her that this was a really bad idea because these things are totally nuts, and women tear each other’s hair out just to get that "perfect" dress. She refused to believe that it could really be that bad. “After all,” she said, “It’s August. Everyone is out of town.” Hmmh, maybe she’s right, I thought. Maybe I should just go and check it out, and if it’s really awful I can leave.

So this morning, I considered telling my boss I needed to take a long lunch, but I was feeling really unmotivated. It's about 100 degrees out, and the last thing I want to do is try on clothes. Around 10:30, I got a call from a friend, who wanted to let me know that the event had been mentioned on the news: they had already had to call the police to break up fights. I think I have my answer: run as fast as I can in the opposite direction. Seriously, no dress is worth that. I will gladly pay retail rather than have to do anything like this. As I type this, I am having visions of heaps of white dresses and women gouging each other’s eyes out. I’m shuddering.