My husband and I celebrated our eleventh wedding anniversary this weekend. “Under the ‘B’ legs eleven; one-one,” the BINGO caller at my elementary school would say.
Time, as usual, plays tricks with years. Eleven doesn’t sound long, but when you start counting the moments within the years it creates a small hill. In eleven short years, my partner in crime and I have lived Life, with a capital ‘L’.
As I watched Say Yes to the Dress, and tried to convince my husband it was suitable anniversary viewing, I was overcome with thanks that weddings hadn’t really come into their own eleven years ago.
My wedding dress cost $750… roughly 1/4 of what the low-end dresses cost on the show – crazy. I don’t know if it chose me, but it was the first dress I saw in the store and the only dress I kept returning to, so I said, ‘yes’.
Now, like sleeping beauty, my dress rests in a box. It cost me $400 to have it dry cleaned and entombed aprés wedding. It looks so peaceful behind the plastic viewing window, but, every so often I itch to rip it out of solitary confinement, put it on and twirl around the room.
What does one do with an eleven-year-old wedding dress? Wearing it to other weddings is still considered a faux pas; and, I don’t want to shred or gore it up for Hallowe’en or a zombie walk.
It deserves to be worn again, to be best supporting actress in the roll of a beautiful medieval style dress.
My daughters are curious. They ask if they can see it, if I’ll bring it out of the box. One of my friends recently posted pictures of her three daughters wearing her wedding dress. It was so something I would do – the trying on part, NOT, the posting their pictures part – but the fact I paid to have my dress boxed away nags at my sensibilities of cracking the seal for what would most-likely be thirty minutes of entertainment.
Also nagging at my sensibilities is the wonder if any of my girlies will want to wear my dress again. I didn’t wear my mum’s dress, and none of my friends wore their mum’s dresses at their weddings, so why would I presume my littles would want to wear mine?
Clearly this is the mark of a disposable society. UGH.
With intentions of an up-cycle, I could turn it into pillows, doll clothes, or buy a mannequin and display the dress in our front window.
I could also sell it. It has good vibes; good karma would definitely come to the next bride who wears it. Or, since it looks a little medieval, it could make a Live Action Role Player or a theatre happy.
As the dress waits in limbo, it serves as a concrete reminder of an amazing day eleven years ago: pumpkins, fall leaves, twinkle lights, full moon, good food, fun family and friends. I would recreate that day in a heartbeat. I would marry my husband all over again, if he’d let me. Apparently trendy vow renewals are out of the question in his books. We’ll see…
Eleven years, legs eleven. No matter how you announce it, life’s been better than good to us, and we can’t wait for eleven more.