I went to my dress fiitting, and my bridesmaid Heather was there for moral support, and the ladies in the shop this time freely offered opinions, and so the choice was a bit easier this time ...

I went with ... drumroll please ... UNDER!

Here's another example, again NOT ME, NOT MY DRESS, but this is a French Bustle:

My dress doesn't have the snazzy pointy beaded designs shooting flames of bedazzled awesomeness down my backside.

My fabric isn't as heavy, and so has more of a cleaner line around the floor. 

I will say no more because this isn't my dress, and I need to stop comparing them because while this lady chose a nice dress and a lovely bustle, it's a bit different from mine.

And anyway, this post is to just show that a French bustle doesn't always have to look like the bride attempted using the facilities without help and wandered back out with her dress crammed into her undertrousers.

 
Tomorrow, Steve and I head to Delaware. I go for my make-up trial. Then we get our marriage license.  Then we meet with the deacon to get our ceremony all sorted out, so that will be ... a hoot? Maybe not. But fun nonetheless.