I have two weddings to prepare for and as much as I look forward to them, my excitement is somewhat dampened by the thought of shopping for the perfect dress. I am hoping that no one from the first wedding will be at the second, for obvious reasons. Finding the perfect dress that does all it needs to do for me will be difficult. I'm considering tailoring a parachute.

I ended up visiting Macy's, which is usually filled with anorexic size two sales girls with an attitude. My friend and I put on our "bite me" faces and prepared to do battle with the stick people.

I browsed through the elf-sizes, taking mental notes of the vogue fashions, and then moved on to the super sizes. I selected four items and headed for the dressing room, which I like to refer to as the depressing room. I'm ashamed to admit this, but I am partial to the handicapped accessible fitting rooms. I struggle in the phone booth sized ones. I don't want to be that close to any mirror, let alone the circus ones they install.

My first choice presented a problem immediately. The strings securing it to the hanger got tangled in my earring as I put it over my head. I called my friend for help but she must have moved on to intimate apparel. While trying to free my earring from the string, I inadvertently caused a small rip in the seam, and since I won't buy damaged merchandise, I deep-sixed dress number one, hoping no one from Macy's saw me.

Dress number two was sized incorrectly. On the hanger, it draped nicely, and was definitely a possibility to cover a multitude of imperfections. The drapes, however, promptly disappeared as I stepped into it, and the tiny flowers in the pattern exploded into what looked like giant sunflowers. I don't understand why the zippers zip up, not down, and are always in the back. When I finally got it half way up, I found I had zipped in the price tag. Getting it off was tricky. By now I was sweating and gasping for breath.

Number three had a full-body slimming insert, which peaked my curiosity, but, by the time I dirty-danced it up over my lower body, I found most of my excess body flab had come along with it. There I stood with a shelf the size of Delaware, and wrinkled cleavage up to my chin. I think this one actually creaked when I moved. During removal, the dress passed a point of resistance, and shot off me like a rocket. It reminded me of a full body armor girdle I once purchased. It unhitched in the crotch for certain bodily functions, and when the need arose, it acted like a window shade snapping up, front and back. The damn thing almost knocked me out.

I had been in the depressing room for an hour and was becoming light-headed and despondent. Maneuvering in and out of clothes was exhausting. I hadn't physically exerted myself like this since my last trip to Disney. Reluctantly, I slipped into dress number four. I was astonished when it easily went over my head and draped elegantly to the floor. I zipped it without sucking anything in. It covered my arm wings, hid the rolling hills of my mid-section and best of all, did not cause any back cleavage. I danced all the way to the cashier with my perfect dress. 

My friend had some luck also. She was in search of a little help in the endowment area, and was pleasantly surprised when the Macy's sales girl introduced her to gel-filled enhancers that, correctly positioned, give the appearance of upward and outward enlargement. I was a little confused when she explained you just stick them under your boobs, but then, many things confuse me these days. After comparing our discoveries, we continued to the drug store where we bought wrinkle cream, hair color, and a lip stick which promised to enlarge our thinning lips by at least one third. We fully expected this miracle to occur, which may explain why we found ourselves talking like Bill Cosby after his Novocaine injection.

While discussing our purchases, it became clear that we were no longer the young women we once were. We were now destined to avoid boutiques, and instead, frequent the women's plus section in Macy's. We buy facial hair removers rather than acne medications, and can't wait to get home to try out a new pain patch. During lunch, I displayed a newly found unabashed confidence, by walking across the dining room without sucking in my stomach. I have indeed crossed the line into the golden age, and oddly enough, it is comforting.