The wedding

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.

What to wear

I have a wedding to go to in 2 days. I want to wear my red cowboy boots:imgres

But I don’t want to be this gal:

Cow? Horse? Hunh?

Cow? Horse? Hunh?

Or this one:

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I want to be her:

ultimate cool

ultimate cool

 

But, here was a conversation that took place, just today:

“What are you wearing to the wedding?”

“I don’t know, seems like every wedding I go to, the standard uniform for the gals is dress, cowboy boots, jean jacket.”

Well, shitdamn, I don’t want to be wearing some “We think we are such cute western girls, even though we’re from Connecticut and have never stepped in actual cow shit,” uniform.

Because, I’m not that girl. Can’t be.

I’m from New Jersey.

And I am just as cool as my girl, Emmylou.

In my head.

I bought this gorgeous dress a while back, thinking it would be perfect for the wedding and it’s green which MCB really likes which makes it even more perfect. I started thinking about what I could wear on my feet that would accommodate all of the needs of the event: standing, dancing, walking on grass, all, for hours on end.

I’ll just throw on my boots – easy. Don’t need to give it another thought.

But now I do because the cliché has been noted; using an out-loud voice.

If I wear the boots and the dress, even without a jean jacket since I don’t own one, I will a) be that gal, just like every other gal there, and b) doing so with everyone knowing that I am fully aware of being the wannabe cowgirl who grew up listening to Bruce Springsteen and Tom Waits, not Ricky Skaggs and Patty Loveless.

So, maybe I could go with these:

images-2

Or these:images-3

I am from Jersey after all.

Or, since I am an “Outdoorsy” type, perhaps these will be better:

images

 

Or my inner athlete could go here:

images-1

 

I have 45 hours to decide.

I refuse to buy anything new.

And I am convinced that whatever I chose to wear, it will steal the spotlight from the bride and in the years to come, people will look back and relive the moment they saw my ill-shoed feet instead of her Vera Wang gown.