Sequel Mondays!

bridezilla in training

Bride Elect (Evolution of a Bridezilla)

 

Chapter Eighteen—Oh…Right…The Groom!

 

While I had fun picking out my bouquet, I began to feel as if I might be forgetting or overlooking something. It was a nagging feeling, and then Stella said something that hit the nail on the head: she asked what the groom was wearing. Oh! Right! The Groom! I had completely forgotten to consider exactly what a groom to a Goddess Bride should wear.

 

Fortunately for me Palucid’s sister was an interior designer, and wife to the best man. She just had a way with putting colours together. She could help us help the men figure out what they should be wearing. We were planning a trip to visit them in the coming weeks, and I realized that perhaps shopping for men’s clothes in Vancouver might be a novel idea. When I told Palucid my idea, he got in touch with his sister and asked her to send me some links to shops we might like to shop at for the groom/best man apparel.

 

Palucid’s sister knew just the shop: it had a little bit of everything. There were billowy and puffy-sleeved shirts named after Shakespearian Tragic Heroes, there were all sorts of Renaissance garb, and there was steam-punk fashion collection. Perhaps it is a bit of an occupational hazard, but I found myself partial to the Hamlet and Macbeth shirts, while Palucid really wanted a vintage aviator’s helmet with a bionic ocular sewn in. In the end we compromised: a modified Hamlet shirt, and a vest.

 

When it comes to the long, and tall Palucid, clothes shopping is rarely quick and easy. Whether it be hats, shoes, pants, or underwear—the order of the day for him is “long and narrow”. Going to a shop where clothing is custom made, as we did with for his shirt, can help streamline the search. However, finding him a pair of pants would prove to be almost as straightforward.

 

I thought, that since we were in a large city like Vancouver, clothes shopping for Palucid would not have its usual challenges. As it turns out, Palucid’s figure is truly unique, and on a national level. Palucid’s sister, a mother to twin boys who seemed poised to take after their uncle in terms of physique, seemed to have a very clear idea of how to proceed. We were looking linen beach pants. In most cases, this is fairly simple, but in Palucid’s case, it was a challenge to find pants that were light enough in colour to fit the palette we wanted, but not so light so that his underwear shone through. Moreover, they needed to fit well enough he didn’t need suspenders, yet not so tight that he would need a grade seven math text book to hold in front of his groin area.

 

When it came to pants, we decided Tommy Bahama ™ was our guy. This line was carried by a national department store, and we figured our odds of finding the perfect fit somewhat higher that way. So, as Palucid’s sister, and her twin boys looked on, Palucid and I began the pants-shopping dance thing that we do. Palucid sat pantless in a change booth as I ran back and forth with multiple pairs and cuts of pants for him to try. Sometimes I was invited into the change booth. In these instances I contemplated things like inseam length and crotch room. In more playful moments I performed the wedgy-jiggle room check.

 

There is a saying that says “two out of three ain’t bad”, which is mostly true—except when it comes to pants for a groom. In such cases colour, fit, and cut were non-negotiable. That day, in a department store in North Vancouver—two out of three wasn’t good. We asked the clerk to search all the stores across the country to find the pants we were looking for.

 

The clerk seemed baffled by our phrase, “across the country” she sought clarification “you mean, like in Coquitlam?” We corrected her—“…we mean like Winnipeg”. She scrunched up her face, “White Rock?” Before Palucid could continue what was turning out to be a conversation that was a bizarre, yet scathing, indictment on the Canadian education system, I chimed in with a hearty “Sure—check White Rock!” This clerk was some kind of Ninja of anti-climaticism because she then replied: “we don’t have any outlets in White Rock”.

 

Palucid’s sister jumped in and asked which, if any stores, on the system have the pants we were looking for. She graciously inquired if perhaps the store could be contacted via the phone. The clerk’s face lit up—using the phone was something she could do! There was one pair of pants, in all of Vancouver, at the store down town. We asked if the pants could be ‘held’ for us. The clerk, still a little puzzled—this time over the idea of a colleague hugging a pair of pants for a customer– agreed to inquire on our behalf.

 

We, each in our own way, left the store exhausted. Palucid’s sister was keenly aware of the mounting restlessness in her boys. I was fatigued by the failed Geography lesson/conversation with the clerk, and Palucid was suffering from pants-shopping-fatigue. We decided to rejuvenate ourselves by doing a little grocery shopping. As we pulled into the parking lot, nestled between the big box outlets was a store called Tommy Bahama ™.

 

Could it be? A whole store possibly filled with pants? Palucid’s sister was reticent to believe it—she thought it just might be a cruel coincidence designed to get our hopes up. Personally, I just couldn’t believe there was only one pair of pants in all of Vancouver (possibly the country—if such a thing existed outside of Vancouver). We had nothing to lose for trying—so tried we did. To our delight, not only was there a great assortment of pants, but there were also cuts and sizes Palucid found more favourable. For perhaps the first time in our six years together, we found Palucid a pair of pants quickly and easily. Our groom had his outfit befitting a Goddess Bridegroom.

 

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