I agreed to meet Shrink and Geek at Men’s Warehouse Tuesday for the final decision on what the groomsmen would be wearing on the big day. Oh, it’s right next to the Verizon store. Really? I know where that is; I’ve cussed out more than one dumbass there in the past few months. So when I left my house thirty minutes before the meeting time, I honestly thought there would be zero issues. Who knew...
Yup. You guessed it. I was late. So not my fault. Tiny sign plus tiny store equals who the fuck can find this place? The name Men’s Warehouse belongs attached to a building you can see from space, not a whole in the wall so tiny they don’t have shirts in stock. Stupidness.
So of course by the time I got there (twenty minutes late) the tuxes were chosen. And yes, it was every suggestion I had when asked except one, but I can handle the purple tie. Nice wedding attire with its silver vest and flat-front pants (pleats make everyone look fat!) and lack of shoulder pads (those scare me - unless worn by Kim Cattrall, of course; only living person ever who can make those things sexy). I will happily be wearing the (oh my god it’s that much) dollar tuxedo.
Two days later, it was off to David’s Bridal to get Shrink’s wedding dress exchanged. Lucky us, we got to meet the manager, Cunt. Yes, she not only lived up to the name, she went for beyond the necessary cuntness required to be called Cunt. She was a cunt to Shrink, me, every one of her poor associates... The kind of trash that deserves a cunt-punt. Have I made my point yet?
We get there, dress still with tags, and hand over the receipt. Oh, I’m not taking back a dress that’s a year old! Funny, not what Shrink was told only days prior. The exchange was suppose to be no problem. Of course, that conversation had not been with Cunt. But once she was backed into the proverbial corner, she struggled to find a reason to deny the bride’s request. So she came up with It smells like cigarette smoke; I can’t sell this! Really? Funny, cause there’s no smoking where the dress was being stored. Well, if you’re a smoker, you wouldn’t notice. Okay, Cunt, fine, have it your way. Maybe it can be taken out? Yes, up to two dress sizes.
About this time, Shrink’s first wedding-related breakdown began. So after some fresh air, a happy pill and a money transfer, back inside we went where we spoke to the seamstress. Can it be taken out? No. But Cunt said... No, sorry; you’ll need to buy a new one. What if you alter it with lacing. No, we can’t do that. Know anyone who can. No; buy a new one.
I asked Tweety about this. Rip out the zippers, add eyelets and insert lacing. Easy-peasy. Mind you, I explained this to the “professional” and she swore it was not possible. Tweety, who has in fact been to school for this sort of thing (fashion design and merchandising), knows it is very possible.
My guess: this bitch is horrible at her job. Proof that experience means shit in the real world where selling a second dress to a nearly hyperventilating bride is the preferred option. Shrink, near tears at this point, said fuck it and whipped out the plastic.
So remember you future brides: stay as far away from David’s Bridal as humanly possible, especially the one where Cunt rules over all. Okay, rant time...
This woman was just mean. The ain't-been-stuffed-since-chastity-belts-were-still-in-fashion mean. Looking at her, I could not think of a single man, animal or plant desperate enough to take the trip into her dead, festering womb. And I doubt she could receive any pleasure from it as her twat probably gave up and moved out to search for attention other than the occasional donkey punch it got when there was no one around for her to abuse. To kind of a nasty attitude to someone planning their wedding is unthinkable. Just because no man in his right mind would consider slipping a ring on that sausage finger does not give her the right to take her misery-in-life out on anyone else, including a paying customer. The seamstress was a moron (I'd say retard but that's a put-down to the mentally impaired and considering there's more sense per pound at the Special Olympics...) who either needs to learn how to actually alter dresses or get the fuck out of the dream-wedding business, but Cunt... her only excuse is that she has the personality of a... well, a cunt. Sorry (not really) but for some people, only the infamous c-word can do them justice.
Okay, rant over. I won't promise anything, but I promise to try my best. After all, who wouldn't be annoyed, pissed, really really fired up seeing this kind of bullshit treatment. And considering Shrink is going back to get the new dress altered (a bit too big) and a bra (that should be entertaining), there's a good chance that Cunt and the useless seamstress will not be surviving. I wouldn't complain; hell, I'd help hide the bodies (fingers crossed).
It's amazing how much fun (see the sarcasm) planning a wedding can be. Happiest day ever? Compared to the lead-up, it's guaranteed to feel like it. Add another reason to the mile-long list of why I don't see myself taking the plunge anytime soon. Too much damn bullshit. Yes, yes, I know I may change my mind and I'm happy for those lucky enough to find the one they find worthy to share a life with. Shrink and Geek are two of those lucky people, most days. They must be, right? Otherwise, who would let someone like Cunt be such a cunt?