Putting on the Dress

I slipped out of my street clothes and into this terrible contraption that women wear to hold themselves together. No one calls it this anymore, but it is a modern-day corset. Not attractive and highly impractical for bathroom purposes. My godmother, Aunt Brenda, pulled my dress out of the garment bag and readied it for me to slip into. I lifted my foot into the air and…

“Wait,” Aunt Brenda. “do you have to go the bathroom? You should do that now.”

“No, I don’t have to go,” I replied feeling somewhat let down at the turn of events. I felt cock-blocked from my dress.

A chorus of voices responded with “yes you do” “you should go now, it will be harder later” “at least try”. Overwhelmed by ten other women I sighed resignedly and plodded over to the bathroom; mumble something about stupid corset and just wanting to put my dress on. I came back out and almost ran over to my dress. Aunt Brenda held it out and I did a big step in (and forward) and then kind of kicked my second leg up and in; we were trying to make sure I didn’t step on the back side of it and that I didn’t fall on my ass. Luckily we succeeded on both accounts, but it was a little iffy there for a while.

Someone zipped me up to a chorus of oohs and aahs. Linda, the photographer, came in to take pictures of the mini-event. The dress was an ivory thing of beauty and I felt, as Theresa described, like a goddess in it. The next piece to add was the corsage, which was a hand-me-down of sorts. My sisters Gina and Emily both wore it as their “something blue”, and it was my something blue that day too. My mom’s pearls were my something old; although not old as in “family heirloom” but old enough to qualify. It took  three different people to finally get the clasps on, but eventually I was decorated in beautiful pearls that made me feel elegant. I slipped on my [new] wedding shoes, champagne colored flats, and turned to look in the mirror. I was ready for a husband.


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