I hung up the phone and let out the most agonizing groan. I knew I was being overly dramatic, but when I agreed to go to a vodka launch party with one of my BFF’s, I didn’t know it was actually a “white party,” too. Ugh, I hated white parties. Matter-of-fact, I hated any type of party that forced my hand in fashion.
Despite living in South Florida, I have this hard and steadfast rule about white: I only wear it when I’m getting married and since I’d already trudged down the aisle twice, I’d pretty much retired it from my closet. I called my date to break the white wearing news. He groaned out-load, too. Mind you, I had only received the dress code confirmation a few hours prior to the party.
With less than two hours to shower (because I had just jogged on the beach path behind my house) and shop, I only owned the two white aforementioned unwearable wedding dresses. I found myself in a major fashion pickle; one that I was bound and determined to free myself from. After all, how hard could it be to find a fabulous white dress in Miami?
I drove like a bat out of hell (with my seatbelt on) to several beautiful little boutiques. Nothing. I called my stylist who dresses me for Deco Drive; she was out of town. I called a reliable vintage store; the lady who answered laughed at me and quipped sarcastically: “You want a white dress for when?” I hung up my cell phone with the realization that I was royally screwed. So…