Prom-toberfest

***DISCLAIMER: once again, this was written like 3 weeks ago and just never posted - I'm really awful at this, I know...nonetheless, here you are...



I'm back....in Munich....and blogging again!  I have no excuse for the prolonged absence.  Das ist alles.

The other day I did a brave thing.  Not the medal-worthy sort of heroic endeavor, but an audacious action at that.  Ready for it?

Last September...my one and only dirndl!

I went Dirndl shopping.  A feat I'm going to assume most people in my social circle haven't had the pleasure of experiencing.  Trust in my words when I tell you that you are missing the equivalent of being stung by a mosquito 34 times.  Sure, that's dramatic, but so am I.  And after a portly German woman, breasts half exposed, rounds second base in a dressing room, I guarantee you'd agree.

See, I fell victim to the same trap as most....the fantastically decorated window displays boasting Oktoberfest's finest garb in the most elegant, slimming, and colorful way.  Nearly every store profits from Oktoberfest sales from Munich's Neiman's equivalent: Loden Frey, to the "questionable" shops in the not so good parts, to the Apotheke (drug store) 'round the corner.  Everyone cashes in, y'all!  (No idea where the y'all just came from???).  The thing that really gets you, too, is that construction on said shop windows begins in, like, July.  And while Oktoberfest actually occurs in September (further confusion by German design, I'm sure), that's still almost 3 months early.

I digress...thing is, one of the events we go to at the Oktoberfest is a bit like prom in that you simply cannot wear the same thing 2 years in a row, gasp!  So, with an afternoon free, I strolled though the Marienplatz and into one of the big department stores.  Truth be told, I was not intending to squeeze into the Bavarian version of a Victorian-era corsetted apparatus (ie, the dirndl).  I was really just browsing all areas of retail, like I do best.  But damn the display stylists and dirndl producers for their choice of the most vibrantly beautiful colors and the quaint, woodland-fairy-like atmosphere that is the "Traditional Bavarian" section of the store.

And so there I stood, faced with an impossible dilemma - to try on, or not to try on.  Surrounded by the colors of the rainbow and a pot of gold in the form of all the shiny dirndl adornments they doop you into buying, I spun around once, saw that NO one was within view, and began throwing dirndls over my sholders and whisking them into the fitting room.  By the time I got in there I'd amassed about 6 brightly colored Alpine peasant dresses, adding approximately 60 pounds to my frame.

Anxious albeit mildly excited at this point, I gingerly stepped into the first victim: a lovely pink and green number taking me back to my preppy roots.  I spent approximately 10 minutes attempting to get it on, worked up a decent sweat, and then turned about face to survey my progress.  The buttons, hooks and zippers looked stressed beyond belief which, of course, only matched my face.  Okay, okay, so it was a size or so too small - used to that, no big deal, on to the next.

The next victim was black and blue and turquoise and lace and very exotic looking - fitting, of course for the exotic American attending the soiree (HA!).  I put it on and looked like a gypsy.  And off it came.

Then there was the dirndl on sale!  Reducing it from the price of a small monthly mortgage payment to that of just a small leased sedan.  It was lackluster.  I wanted to look like Cinderella, not Quasimodo.  So it, too, joined the sea of beautiful fabric on which I was now standing. 

At this point, half way through the marathon, I paused to consider my dirndl buying experience last year.  It hit me like  Ralph Macchio (Daniel-son) hit the Zack Morris-esque tough guy at the end of Karate Kid....it was absolutely as miserable last year as it is right now.  Maybe it was because I was so new to Munich, so excited about Oktoberfest and had KC in toe to assure that each dress I tried was perfect, that I blocked the experience from memory.  Well the memory came flooding back and all I could envision was the larger than life Bavarian woman pulling and tucking and groping and yanking me into each dress.  Throw in the fact that she spoke no English and proceeded to instruct and demand and twirl me around like a marienette, and it surprises me not that I scortched it from memory.

Back to this year...it must have been the lack of employees or other browsers in the dirndl section that day that gave me the wild idea to try my hand at looking the part again.  I'll spare you description of the final 3.  I couldn't get them on and off fast enough.  Of course, before I was finished, a kindly German woman outfitted head to toe in the perfect dirndl attempted to help.  Good news is, I can now express that ich spreche ein bisschen Deutsch, and politely decline any prodding and tugging.  I quickly dumped the dresses in her arms (after re-hanging them, of course...I was raised right!), muttered a hurried 'Danke Shoen' and booked it to the escalator. 

Moments later, I found myself back in the center of the Marienplatz, breathing the crisp air and inciting self anger for getting so worked up.  Oktoberfest's all about the beer and revelry anyway, right?