This was my maid-of-honor dress for my friend Martha's wedding. The bridesmaid had one like it. They were made from a Gunne Sax pattern. They were of the stretchiest single knits we had ever worked with, and it took an Act of Congress to get the hems straight. The other bridesmaid's skirt stretched after she was done with it, and wound up dragging the floor.
But let me tell you what happened on the wedding
night, after the sermon:
My father finished preaching, prayed, and then said, "Will the wedding party take their places."
The bride and her attendants arose, as did the groom and his groomsmen. We stepped forward to the alter, and the wedding ceremony commenced.
And then Martha and Carey Gene were husband and wife, and it was time to step back to the pew and then file out while the congregation sang the closing hymn. The newly married couple would go first, followed by Larry and me, then the other bridesmaid and groomsman, the candlelighters next, and finally the ringbearer and flowergirl (my nephew and niece, Robert and Susan). Since the pew was only a few steps back, we did not turn around; we just backed up.
Problem:
Sitting in that strrrretchy single knit dress through the service had stretched the back of the skirt, and it was no longer half an inch above the floor.
I stepped on the hem.
This pulled me backwards a little, so I automatically stepped back quickly with the other foot to catch myself.
That foot wound up even farther up the hem, jerking me back all the more.
By now, I was leaning backwards at a precarious angle, as I effectively walked up the inside of the back of the skirt.
The outcome would have been nothing less than ignominious, if the backs of my legs had not suddenly ka-bonked into the pew, which brought me up short and prevented me from landing flat on my back in front of the entire congregation.
I did not willingly wear a floor-length thneed (à la Dr. Seuss' The Lorax) ever again.
