That insane mass of white tulle and lace I called a wedding gown a couple of years ago is hanging in the back of my closet in a clear plastic tulle-prison tied closed with bronze chiffon ribbon.
I was hanging up laundry last night and happened to glance to my right and I saw it there, in the corner. Rather, I saw it there, taking up that entire end of the closet, even strapped into a big bag and tied down for it's own protection.
Maybe it's because I usually just wear casual clothes and LIKE my life that way. Maybe it's because we got married at dusk instead of in the morning so I only got to really wear it for a few hours. Maybe it's because underneath it all I'm just a girly schmo.
But I want to put that damned dress on and prance around in it. I want to wear the veil while I shampoo the living room carpet. I want to be cinched back into that corset even if it DID stab my upper thighs and flounce around with those 20 pounds of white princess poofy skirt blocking everyone else's way. I want to wear that gown until somebody big and bad enough tells me I just have to take it off. I want to have mad crazy monkey sex in it. I want to sleep in it. I want to roll around on the floor with the dogs in it.
I've been thinking about renewing our vows, even though we've only been married not quite two years, just so I could get away with putting that thing on again. We're going to my husband's best friend's wedding in two weeks. I'm already jealous that that woman gets to wear hers and I don't get to wear mine.Labels: fashion, husband, personal urban drama |
