Frocky Horror Show

For me - and I would imagine many, many others - one of the most exciting things about getting married is choosing The Dress. While I was worried about venues, stressed about guests and nervous about the nuptials, the dress was the one thing I could be excited about. After all, I had been dreaming about it for decades. It seems I was wrong.

Now, to be fair to the industry at large, I perhaps don't have the most traditional taste in wedding dresses. In the mid-90s, when I used to doodle designs in my school workbooks, I was convinced I would get married wearing a 1960s-style shift dress and knee high boots, while a few years later medieval became my guiding influence, with sleeves that hung to the floor and Lord of the Rings a key theme.

Luckily I have since grown up and realised that neither Galadriel nor Lulu should be used as your major influence when it comes to the most important frock you are ever likely to wear. So, while I have a few ideas, I felt I was quite open minded. I had also heard from many friends that you just know when you've found The One, even if it is completely different to what you thought you would pick. So, I entered the dress shops in the keen and inquisitive spirit of a Girl Guide.

Within about two minutes of looking at the rails I knew there was nothing that leapt out at me, but I wanted to try on as many different styles as possible so put my trepidations to one side.

I tried on princess-style gowns, but these made me look like Glinda from The Wizard of Oz - if she'd been shrunk in the washing machine. I tried on a Victorian-style lace gown with sleeves, but my height - combined with my wide-eyed nerves and office-worker pale skin - made me look like the ghost of a Victorian child haunting the residents of a rambling Gothic pile. Then there were the dresses decorated with so many sequins and plastic rhinestones they looked like they belonged at a Dolly Parton concert, and the HUGE frocks that will probably make an appearance on My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding any day now. Most of all, in every gown I tried on, I looked nothing like a bride and more like I was playing dress up.

Now, it doesn't help that I am barely 5 ft tall, while the average wedding gown is made for someone of about 5 ft 10" (equivalent to a woman of 5 ft 6" wearing heels.) As a result, I had to stand on a stool. While humiliating, this fooled me momentarily into thinking every dress looked amazing and added inches to me, until I stepped off the stool only for a layer of satin to rise up and make me look like a melting ice-cream. My height also had the unnerving effect of making me look like a child bride, which is probably something best avoided.

I know, I appear to be moaning - which was my major bugbear about brides when I first started this blog. This is the most beautiful, expensive and special dress I will ever wear and there are far worse things I could be doing with my time than trying on hundreds of frocks. I feel guilty complaining, but had to write about my experience if only to dispel the myth that every wedding gown you try on will transform you into Cinderella. In my case, I looked more like a startled Sarah Brightman in Phantom of the Opera.

I still have not found The One and I'm starting to panic. But I know it will happen - however many sequins, rhinestones and layers I have to wade through on the way. After all, if I've found the man I want to marry, how hard can it be to find the dress I want to get married in?