I wasn't at all until yesterday. Then I started having mini panics about undergarments, and it's been all downhill since then. I've entertained thoughts like, people would be mad if I just called off the whole thing, right? I mean, I didn't go to prom because I couldn't find a dress, so...
This, however, is not prom.
Way, way more people will be looking at me, and many more pictures will be taken. Oh, the pictures.
Recall, now, that tomorrow morning I get on a train to go down to D.C. to try on dresses. Naturally I'm overreacting to this situation. (I've often been told that you only should do what you know how to do well.) But really, have I ever been a fancy dress girl? No. Do clothes tend to fit me well? No. Do I have any freaking idea how to do this? No!
But then, I want me a pretty dress. And... don't tell Jonathan, but I might want a yellow pretty dress. shhhhh.
Aarg. I'm sure it will be fine. It will be fine, right? I've got myself convinced that they won't have any dresses in my size. (Did you know that I'm actually Gigantor?) I'm convinced that they won't have any dresses in the fabrics that I want to look at. I'm convinced of many things, for no reason other than that I have some sort of biological need to psych myself out.
Seriously, it's a dress shop. How am I more intimidated by this than by the New York State Supreme Court?
Well, at the Court they've never made me take my clothes off. (Yet.)