tBlog - favors

R.

I gave my bridal gown away last night, along with the crinoline (still in its hanging plastic bag from Margie's). I had had it cleaned, preserved and boxed for no small fee shortly after the wedding. You're supposed to keep those forever, right? Pass them on to your daughters? Well, I have sons. My guess is, their future wives (G-d willing there should be one sweet girl dest ined for each of my boys) will have a little more interest in whatever fashions are current than in their future mother-in-law's yellowing old gown.

The first time I was engaged, at 21, I picked out a stunning gown. I was still about a size 14 then, and the Christos gown on which my parents put a $350 deposit probably retailed for about $2500. It was pure white silk shantung, with reimbroidered silk swirls on the bodice and hems. It was extraordinary. All those details were so important to me then; when Ex and I cancelled the wedding, I was almost as disappointed about losing out on the gown as our relationship.

When DH and I met, the details just faded away from me. Which is not to say, as an event freak, I didn't have opinions about the wedding; I just didn't have as strong opinions as I'd thought. The result was much less stress than probably many brides experience, and a little less money spent (though, trust me, my parents, DH, and his folks were all very generous in our celebration!).

But the gown... what to do? First of all, I have some bitter memories associated with it. It's not fun to shop for anything when you're a plus-sized woman; the bridal gown search is even harder. I remember finally getting the gown in and going for a fitting, where I was admonished for not telling them that I had "unusually long arms." Who the fuck knows that? It's their job to take my measurements and figure all that out. Two weeks before my wedding, we discovered that the arms of the gown were too short.... the sleeves stopped, unflatteringly, at the widest point of my forearms. We paid a ridiculous amount to have similar lace overnighted from New York so they could build longer sleeves.

On my wedding day, I thanked my rusty trusty bottle of Xanax when, with makeup and hair done, my mom and friend Hilary helped me into the gown, which.... had not been completed. Margie's had never finished taking the bodice in, and it sagged -- literally -- around my middle. I looked ridiculous, with large folds of white, beaded material billowing around me. I stood there in my Xanax haze while my mother, the stylist, and two of my bridesmaids did their best to pin my gown invisibly.

To top all that drama off, the photographer never got a real portrait of me and DH. They didn't start taking formal portraits until the reception was nearly over (are you kidding me?), when everyone was sweaty and dishelveled from dancing and doing straight vodka shots (don't tell me Orthodox Jews don't know how to party).

Anyway, I can't say the gown brought bad luck because if DH and I could be anticipating our 10th anniversary this June after layoffs, three kids, illness, loss of parents and grandparents, and seven household moves -- well, shit. I just hope it brings good luck to the woman who took it last night. All I asked of her was that she please not sell it -- either keep it, or pass it on to someone else. She was certainly pleased to get it, and I was happy that someone who couldn't afford to get a gown will get to look in the mirror on her wedding day and think she looks beautiful.