Bride on a Budget: The Dress Debacle

Don't let this smile fool you--I'm tired of these shenanigans. 

When it comes to spending money, I'm a total miser. I fret over small splurges, like gum. My fiance, Jason, jokes that when we're old and (even more) crotchety, I'll probably squirrel away rolls of quarters in our walls. This is highly likely. 

This (hopefully endearing?) quirk is a teeny bit problematic when it comes to our wedding--especially the process of choosing a dress. I'm obviously not sweating the (totally unattainable) idea of the perfect, fairytale princess-y soiree. I mean, come on: Jason regularly wears orthopedic Velcro shoes, and I don't have a single pair of tights or leggings sans enormous crotch hole. Our favorite stay-home-date-night activity includes eating Little Caesar's pizza. We're just not black-tie folks. 

We're not having a blow-out bash, but we do want to celebrate our life together with people we love. (And feed them, so that they continue to love us.) We're getting hitched on a farm, but don't picture a pastoral Hudson Valley scene. This joint is suburban: it's down the street from a 7/11. This shindig is BYO slurpee. But there are still chickens and goats--and yep, they're invited.

Goat of Honor

The point is, I'm not looking for one of those midriff-baring Pnina Tornai monstrosities for which I'd have to sell at least two organs. When I saunter down the aisle--preferably while riding an alpaca--I just want to wear something pretty and summery. 

Which way to my dress?

Here are my criteria:
1. Unfussy. 
2. Cheap-ish. More than a month's rent? Not gonna happen. 
3. Comfortable.
4. Farm-appropriate (ie, no cathedral trains that would drag in alpaca dung.)
5. Slightly whimsical. 
6. Doesn't make me feel like I'm playing dress-up. Those floor-length, all-lace numbers looked gorgeous--just not like me. 

So, where is this sheath hiding? I've found some great options online, but I'm nervous about ordering something, hating it, and then having to schlep it through the city to find an open post office. After our supremely delicious pie tasting last weekend, I've come to this conclusion: Shopping for a wedding gown is 1,000,000 times less fun than sampling flavors of pie. (You shouldn't eat taffeta.) Maybe I'll just show up to the ceremony coated in pecans.