Getting Over Myself

I might have mentioned a time or seven that my brother is getting married this coming July. He and his fiance, a lovely woman, bought a house last Friday. So yes, things are moving along for them.

Once they set the date for the wedding, my brother called to ask me if I’d be a bridesmaid for A. I told him I’d be honored.

There was a little talk as the date was set. Colors were chosen, Alyssa was asked to learn the Bridal March so she can play the piano that day.

At Alyssa’s birthday party Angel told me they’d picked out dresses. I was too distracted by Alyssa’s party to ask to see a picture or even for a description. But later, I started to fret. What if she’d picked out something that is sleeveless or even, Heaven forbid, strapless? I started to panic. I haven’t worn a tank top or any other sleeveless sort of garment since 1995. My arms are huge. I do not show them in public.

I decided then and there I was not going to wear something she’d picked out if it showed my disgusting arms.

I know. Brat much?

I vented to my mom and she said it was okay to suggest that we all (there are four bridesmaids) wear the same color but different styles that flatter each of our bodies.

I stewed some more and then…I got over myself.

Just last week I told my mom I wasn’t going to say anything to Angel. I’d wear whatever she’d picked out and be okay with it. This is her wedding, her day and I’m not going to be the bitchy sister-in-law who makes the entire day about her grody old arms.

My mom told me it was okay to suggest the different styles but she was proud of my sudden maturity. Yeah, it only took 42 years.

The next day. The very next day, my brother called to ask me if I could go shopping with Angel the day after. The girl she’d originally asked to make the dresses is pregnant and doesn’t think she can make four dresses in the next four months.

So we went shopping. It was agreed that two of us will wear blue and the other two will wear orange. (Bears fans, anyone?) We’re all wearing dresses we feel most comfortable in.

It goes to show that when you give up a little control, sometimes, it actually comes back to you.

Or…when I get over myself, it doesn’t matter if the control comes back to me because in the end, it’s not always about me.