Someone asked me the other day if weddings are hard for me. I am assuming she wondered because I am a bitter-old-divorced-hag – as is she, minus the bitter, old, and hag bits.
I thought about it and realized that I go to very few weddings these days. I think last night was number three in twice that number of years.
My response, “I don’t think so. But maybe? I guess we’ll find out.”
I think my biggest concern going in was that I would be cynical and disparaging. I already had a bug up my ass about people who spend god only knows how much on a wedding dress that they 1) are only going to wear for a few hours, and 2) will totally trash walking around in the grass and the mud. There are starving children in Africa after all.
I spent a few hundred on mine. I was going for the simplistic homespun look and I got it.
I hated my dress.
Maybe not right in the moment, but in the years afterwards, all I could think was “Blah.”
It has now been cut up and dyed by a teenage girl who saw the potential and didn’t care that it was a wedding dress from a wedding that ended in divorce.
Back to last night…
It was stupendous. There was so much sweetness in the air, in the crowd, and yes, in the Vera Wang dress. I cried again and again, but not even once out of sadness or pity for myself. This wedding was what love is really about.
Really, the most difficult part was trying to figure out what to wear . I ended up not in the boots, not in Grandma A’s gorgeous flowered and veiled hat, and not in eggplant lace. It actually doesn’t matter what dress I donned, because I sported the best accessory there; MCB in his crisp and classic East Coast wedding attire including navy blue blazer and bow tie. I would have looked good in my bathrobe.
The bridesmaids all wore dresses and cowboy boots. Right? I was so excited to have an opportunity to roll my eyes and feel great disdain for them being so predictable but you should have seen the dresses…each one a different style and color and oh so cool. The groomsmen wore shirts that I had actually picked out in a moment of total wedding planning frenzy and let me just say – I can dress a guy.
Then Vera came down the aisle, in a huge poof of fluff and I thought, Oh, now I get it. That’s why gals spend so much money and (energy and tears) on their wedding gown. She fucking rocks.
And she totally knows it.
And she is psyched.
And I never hated my wedding dress as much as I did at that very moment.
The rest of the evening was perfect in every way.
I know the groom better than I do the bride – he and I have been friends, for many a year. Seeing him standing up there with gushiness and joy oozing out of him made me realize just how much love I feel for him.
I was so overjoyed that it took the wind right out of me.
Gratitude and humility were the overrunning themes of the evening and who could possibly ask for anything better?
It was a magnificent wedding, a magnificent couple.
And no matter what my cynical bitter self says about the likelihood of divorce, the hope to which I bore witness, made even tragically damaged me believe in happily ever after.