Playing Dress Up... Or not...

Well. I talked last time about the fun I was anticipating. Turns out some things were better, some were worse. WORSE, if you can believe it.
Better:
The girls in her wedding party are, for the most part, very nice. Most of them were hilarious. One was a little loud for me, one a little quiet, one a little wild, and one was just right (do I sound like Goldilocks? I think I do.) I found myself wanting to be friends with the one who was just right. Funny thing was, she was the one I was the most nervous about. See, she doesn't use paper towels. Cuz it's bad for the environment. And she, like, cares. And I, like, could care less. But she was cool about it, and so was I, and we were both appropriately self-deprecating about our beliefs. I liked her.
Worse:
Two things. One was that I felt like I would feel uncomfortable. I didn't. I made myself at home- apparently too at home. Because I ended up basically finishing up the lunch-of-things-I-don't-eat and then serving it. Then I held the baby while everyone else ate. Then I cleaned up. All of that, with help, I don't mind- I like being helpful. It gives me something to do with my hands and makes me feel less out of place. However, I HATE it when I'm the only one doing it. It makes me bitter. Not at my house- there I'd rather just do it. But when I'm at someone else's house, NOT hosting, I don't feel like I should do ALL The work. One bridesmaid (too loud) offered to help. She brought two dishes into the kitchen then went on with the being loud. The other matron-of-honor (too wild) stood in the kitchen and watched me work. I'm trying to not make enemies out of these women, so I did not snap at her (as I wanted to): "If you're going to stand there and watch me, you may as well help me." I refrained.
Also worse:
Oh. My. God. Bridesmaid dress shopping. Here's what I was expecting: to go to try on dresses and have to come out with it unzipped or look terrible in it cuz it didn't fit correctly. Here's what happened: we get to the place. We are directed to the collection of tea-length dresses. We look through. Too wild doesn't like anything that I and Just Right like (we're talking bottoms of dresses. That's it.) Then we pick four that the bride would like to see. And then we look at the sizes. They range from 10. to 12. Two Whole Sizes. Neither of which THIS girl fits into.
Everyone was fine- no one made a big deal of it. It really, really, really sucked for me. I wanted to cry. Instead I took Just Right's baby from her so that she could go swimming in the 10s 3 months after carrying a human inside of her body.
Way, way worse:
(this makes three things. Sorry.)
The car ride home. I ended up in tears. Also I screamed at my stepfather when, after I wanted him to tell me how to get OFF 90-E he tells me, not once, not twice, but THREE times how to get back ON 90-E. It was fun. I then cried three more times on the way home. I think it was a combination of everything- being away from my husband (who had a miserable weekend putting up curtains), my kitten (who missed me terribly), the dresses, the overload of female interaction, and the excessive time spent in the car. I was tired and done.

I don't think I'm going back to Rochester anytime soon. I need me a break.