August 06, 2006

The devil and Ms. Smith.

So here's where it all potentially goes off the rails. Last night, many hours after Douglas nodded off, the dogs and I (okay, mostly just me) were CS41853.jpgGoogling every possible permutation of "goth" "tiara", "gothic tiara", "rockabilly crown", "victorian tiara", "flame crown", "flames" "crown", et al until my corneas threatened to walk off the job. The closest I came was this charming chapeau, and a purple, plastic Cruella DeVille-esque Halloween-shop special for the princessely price of $4.95. Not that don't both have their charms, and not that Douglas and I aren't noted for our occasional wardrobe escapades for the sake of bon vivance (he cut a dashing figure of a ringmaster in full tails and top hat at our Derby party), but either option steps squarely on the particular cow patty we're doing our best to dodge: Being "theme-y". Okay - it's a risk you run when your weekend getaway home happens to be a Gothic stone church, but we're not wanting to make guests feel as if they should be looking around for the bat kebabs and mead keg.

Upshot - I'm making my own tiara from metallic polymer clay. It's not *that* monstrous a leap, as I did actually lo some 10 years ago manage to wrangle myself an MFA in Metalsmithing. I'm fairly confident that I'll be able to carve up something lovely; it's just going to be crucial that I keep the obsession to a manageable level.

At least I've got the first-hand cautionary tale of my grad school pal - also a metalsmith - who at the 11th hour decided that the groomsmen all required handmade cufflinks. Handmade by HER already overtaxed hands, that is. Darned good thing she'd scheduled wedding-day mani-pedis for herself and her sis and me, her Maid O' Honor, as we spent the bulk of Wedding Eve frantically sanding and polishing half a dozen pairs in the sink of my room at the Best Western. Yes, indeed, they were exquisite, and of course, every gosh-darned groomsman was just tickled, but what with that task atop the rest of the wedding stress, sweet Bridey puked her guts out in the bridal suite's powder room the second after I loosened her corset.

Okay, so I'll order the back-up tiara.

Posted by Kat at August 6, 2006 04:06 PM