For those of you who didn't read my most recent post, I'm sharing a few of my "Bridezilla moments"... : ) Here's the first one: It's TWO weeks before the wedding and the stress level around the house is pretty high due to lots of last minute details that need to get done. What am I dealing with instead? A seamstress who has had my veil for weeks and won’t give it back!!! In an attempt to dye the veil's lace a deeper shade of white, she dyed it brown. The seamstress (I'll call her Nadia) was afraid I would take it to get fixed by another seamstress. (I guess she was worried about her reputation.) But being that I was wary of trusting her to continue working on the veil to fix it, since she had already pretty much ruined it, I wanted it back. I had called her several times, I had gone by her house (she worked out of her home), and I even had written her a letter. No response on the letter, she wouldn't open her door for me, and the only time she picked up my call was when I called from another phone number. Once she realized it was me, she hung up!
ME: Isn't this “withholding property” or whatever? You’re a lawyer, you could write her a letter on your law firm letterhead or something. Tim: No…At some point she’ll give in and give it back. Just try calling her again and be really firm this time. Me: I HAVE been firm! She will NOT give it back! She is holding my veil hostage, and the wedding is only 2 weeks away. Maybe I could get your brother to go with me and get it. He looks intimidating, with all those muscles of his… Later that day: Tim's brother suggests cutting to the chase and having a policeman escort me instead. Can a policeman do that sort of thing? At first I think it’s kind of an outlandish idea, but then I think about how I’ve given her plenty of chances.Next Day: My mom, Dad, and I lead the way to Nadia’s house. The policeman follows us in his cop car. My mom and I are saying how we’re going to feel bad for taking up the officer’s time if it turns out she’s not there. My dad can’t believe he’s been roped into this. When we get to Nadia’s house, the police officer goes up to her door alone. After a few knocks, she opens the door and motions the police officer in, looking to the left and the right as she does so. (Not kidding.) About 30 minutes later—What could be taking so long? Why hasn’t the police officer waved us in yet?—an old man walks over from the house next door and enters Nadia’s house. My dad squints from our far-away post (we’re parked around the corner) and realizes he knows him. At this point, he’s had it with waiting, and he’s wondering what old man Mr. Johnson is doing getting involved, so he marches toward the house and lets himself in. Another 20 minutes go by—again, what could be taking so long?—so my mom and I finally decide to go in too.
Inside the house, Nadia is holding her neighbor’s arm, playing the victim's role. She is saying how hard she has worked on the veil, how her work is perfect, and how she has spent hours on it. Her Argentenian accent and on verge-of-tears voice pitch makes her plea all the more dramatic. The old man is holding Nadia’s arm in return, looking confused and bewildered by the whole thing (the officer told us she had asked to phone a friend for moral support.) My dad—in businessman mode—is saying how sometimes businesses make a mistake, and that they have to recognize when the customer is not satisfied and compromise accordingly. Nadia says she is not a business. My dad tells her that she is getting paid for providing a service. My mom, after dealing with this lady’s antics for weeks, is beyond words.. The officer is just standing there—mediating, I suppose. For the last time, I try explaining to Nadia that as an experienced seamstress, she used poor judgment in dying the lace. That I appreciated all her hard work, but that--"Noooo! Noooo!! My work is perfect!" she shouts. I try to speak again, but she interupts me again. And this goes back and forth several times. Finally, I turn to the officer and say “See, this is how manipulative she is. She won’t let me speak, just like she wouldn’t take my calls.”
Nadia now starts hopping slash gliding slash ducking around the room (not quite sure how to describe it) as she says she wants to call her lawyer. The officer says "That won’t be necessary, mam. " My dad says he could call up an army of lawyers. My mom says “No, now... yall..." This is when I walk up and stand just two inches away from Nadia’s face, tell her she has caused so much stress on my family with all this, and then make my grand exit out of her house. I’ve had it. My mom follows closely behind, and we go sit in the car, both of us saying we just couldn’t keep listeing to her anymore. We had been dealing with this woman all summer by this time (thank goodness she didn't ruin my dress too!)
About 20 minutes later, my dad is still inside the house. I tell my mom maybe we should just give up, that it's no use arguing with this lady anymore. She's says, "No, let Dad handle it." And sure enough about a moment later, my dad bursts out of the door to Nadia's house holding the veil high above his head so it wouldn't drag on the ground. hahahaha I will NEVER forget this priceless moment. There he was, 6 foot 2, awkwardly carrying this flowy wisp of a fabric that had caused so much trouble toward us like a prize--looking manly and disgusted and victorious all at the same time.
haha!! woah. how did i miss reading this story until now? what drama!
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