It doesn't look that tricky, but I assure you it is. There is no give in the shoulders and that was my downfall. It fit like a glove, but when I tried to get it off... off... OFF!!! OFFOFFOFFOFFOFFOFFOFFOFFFFFFFFFFFFFF.......
PANIC ATTACK! It wouldn't budge.
Seriously, panic attack.
I had half a mind to rip the damn thing and pay for it just to have it off my body. I was sweating and sore and trying to figure how this situation was going to end. My shoulder muscles burned from the contortions I commanded of them. And still nothing.
Thankfully, Elizabeth happened to be in town. (Oh, thank god for Elizabeth! In my whole life, thank god for Elizabeth!) What seemed to be a polite pop-out to show her the dress turned into a frantic wave to the dressing room, where she assessed the angles and calmly (she was calm, me not so much) pulled me out of the dress. It was not pretty, I know that, but that's what friends are for. What happened in that dressing room is between me and Elizabeth, and that's how it will remain. The moral of the story is--as she put it--always make sure you have on clean, opaque undergarments in case a friend needs to remove you unexpectedly from Parisian circuswear. Life lessons, indeed.
