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I have taken FOREVER to make this decision. Not because the dress itself eluded me; I found a style I liked way back around Easter. Rather, I was doing that stupid fussybride thing that I’d hoped was beyond my nature, but, as it turns out, is not.

I confess: I could not decide between Bordeaux and Cranberry.

How awful is that? I have become that person. I am now such a fashion victim that I am splitting hairs over the quantity of blue vs. red dye in my particular shade of autumnal wine-dark. Me! The same person whose wardrobe, at one point circa 2001, consisted almost entirely of black sackcloth (and its functional equivalents). Who knew? Mea culpa.

At any rate, that’s why it took me so damn long to make the call. But wonderful &, whose talent for moving things forward rivals Barack Obama’s, booked me an appointment at that bridal salon in Clarendon and accompanied me there to ensure that I would punt the decision no further.

The dress is still awesome. Here it is on my stepmother, at Easter:

Barbara models The Dress

The Dress, detail

And here it is on me:

The Dress

The Dress, side view

(Note the irony: neither of your trusty models will actually be wearing the bridesmaid dress.)

& beheld both the Bordeaux and the Cranberry, and bless him, instantly knew the right answer. “That’s a great color!” he said of the latter.

And he was right.

Cranberry, in the shade

Cranberry, in partial sunlight

Cranberry, in the sun

So there it is: that’s the dress, and the color. I’ve decided. I’ve quit nattering and gone and made the decision. Why this was such a challenge, I still cannot explain. But now, thanks greatly to &, it’s one more problem solved.

Next on the to-do list: gluing together all of the pieces of paper that comprise our invitations!

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