Dear David's Bridal

For some women, you have made their dreams come true on one of the most important days of their lives. Apparently they chose to purchase their not so one of a kind gown from your store because of your incessant barrage of e-mails and $99 dress sale flyers. I admit, I went into your store out of curiosity when I was on the hunt for a dress, but what I experienced in your store was a day in my life that has left scars upon my soul.

I went without an appointment because I just wanted to look around. See, I can glance at sparkles, sequins, strapless, and bustles and know it's not at all what I am looking for. I can do this without the help of sales people, but David's Bridal, you think you know better. I picture biblical tales of locust descending upon bountiful harvests. The only difference between biblical locusts and your locusts is that your locust wear polo shirts and khaki pants. I was swarmed! I couldn't see anything but white, off white, ivory, and some god damned champagne color that just looked like dirty white. You intentionally seperated me from my friend. You wanted me vulnerable and alone, and you succeeded. I was trapped in a tiny room with enormous dresses. The tulle kept me away from the doorknob like a net. Fuck. FUCK!

You asked me what kind of dress I was looking for and I CLEARLY stated, something simple, tea length, with a vintage feel. "Okay! Let's get you into this corset type thing so you can try it on without your bra! What's your cup size sweetie??" I know this is going to be trouble, "My cup size is kind of an F-ish or... Just whatever you have." This horrible Marquis de Sade of the bridal world brings me back a mother fucking C CUP! C as in C-ut off my C-irculation and lung C-apacity and kill me! "Don't worry doll, it's just for the try on, you'll have one that fits on the wedding day. I tell her I think I'm ready to try on dresses now. I did have to tap it out in morse code since I couldn't get a breath to speak. "Great! I know you want vintage and simple, but first I have this dress that just came in and no one else has tried it ..! You'll be the first! DON'T YOU WANT TO BE THE FIRST TO TRY ON THE PRETTY FROCK!?! CAW!" Good god she-beast, fine.

As I lean against the wall very near respiratory failure, I see a giant wad of glitter and what appears to be a huge catherdral length train and skirt made of rotini pasta... wait, maybe it was fusilli. I'm too weak to fight her. She dresses me in the worst thing I have ever seen in my life and THAT is when my friend decides to show back up. The sales lady says "DOESN'T SHE LOOK GORGEOUS! SHE'LL BE A GORGEOUS BRIDE!" I'm about to cry, my friend is about to laugh and I am suddenly craving Olive Garden for lunch.

After suffering more humiliation through the discovery of how fat back fat can be and not being to hold my breath any longer, I told them I was done. NO MORE AWFUL DRESSES! I thought that would stop you. I thought you would see that my style is just not you style and we could break up easily. I was so fucking wrong about that.

I'll admit, I kept letting you email me when I was still on the hunt for a dress. I thought maybe, just maybe something decent would turn up in one of the promotional mailers. But then, the wedding was called off. I didn't want anything to do with any fucking dresses in my mail so I kindly asked you to remove me from you list. Did that stop you? Do you think that they even slowed down the giant cogs of merchandising for one brief moment? I know your answer and you're right. FUCK NO.

David, Dave, Big D... Please, I beg of you to stop sending me letters. Maybe you just want me to experience the joys of wedded bliss. You are biding your time until my knight in shining armour comes and whisks me off to lovely happy wedding land. But David, I have news for you. THAT AIN'T HAPPENING! It is actually my goal in life to have 36 new suitors ask me for my hand in marriage upon which I will jump for joy and say, "NO! FUCK YOU AND FUCK DAVID'S BRIDAL!"

Til death,
Bree