Tag: fashion

Is this your wedding dress?

No, I’m serious. Is this your dress?

See, while making Christmas happen yesterday–mainly digging out the tree and wrapping gifts and hunting for the small box of personal ornaments. Hubby and I hunted in the eaves (that’s kind of an attic) and I got frustrated. I got down on my knees and poked around only to find my wedding dress had been very unceremoniously dumped into the eaves at some point when last I saw it, it was hanging in my closet. Being a little miffed at its mistreatment I spent some time gingerly plucking it out of the crap that surrounded its ratted busted garment bag. Without much fuss, I gently took it to the bedroom where I silently fumed and laid it on the bed to get to later. But I just wanted to get rid of the nasty old bag so I took it out. I found it in half a blue plastic garment bag in bad shape. The bottom had been uncared for.

I reached into the bag to take out my poor dress.

The material felt odd. My dress was lace.

No matter. Obviously it’s MY dress…right?

I pull out the train and the color is wrong. The material is wrong.

I keep telling myself that because my old brain needs that reassurance. My dress really was lace. I swear.

I reach in and continue pulling it out looking for the mound of the bustle that is the nice lacy train of my dress. I did not find it.

Pulling it all the way out of the bag I stared at it. Half my brain say; yes, of course that’s your dress. The half going; oh fuck no!

Who’s dress is this?

I reach into the bag again there’s MY dress. All lacy with its sweetheart bodice.

There’s my bustle

Quickly my brain tells me that it’s my Oldest Daughter’s dress.

Quickly my brain says; Fuck no. Hers was a sexy little thing.

I tell hubby what I found but he’s a guy. It didn’t register with him so help me out a bit here ladies.

Is this not odd? Or at least a bit interesting?

No matter, we went back to the tree.

Found the ornaments. Went downstairs. Decorated the tree. I tell my Oldest Daughter what I found she asks if its hers and I tell her the same. I ask if she knows who it belongs to.

Neither of them showed much interest in something that was intriguing the hell out of me.

As we decorated I played the story my dress in my mind. Yes, I opened the Preservation Box years ago. The dress was there, the slip was missing it was a rather structured slip with a slight hoop to it, the strapless bra was also missing but the carriage hat veil was there. That’s so filthy it’s pathetic. It’s been sitting here, out in the open, in my office for about 30 years now.

I showed the dress to my daughters and even let them play with a bit once or twice. It HUNG in that garment bag, in good shape, for ages. Tucked away. Forgotten about. Until yesterday.

Anyway, last night went on. Hans Gruber took his tumble off the Nakatomi Plaza signaling the end of the Holiday Buying Season. Yeah, and Santa kicked some ass in Violent Night.

As I slept I thought I heard a female voice say to me; I don’t have anywhere to keep this, will you hold on to it for me?

When I started puttering around on this snowy morning the voice came back several times. I thought, way way way back in my mind I could see a rather tall woman with sandy/brown/reddish hair holding the dress out to me. I said I would put it with mine and I did.

Weirdest thing is; in this maybe memory, I knew my dress was in the eaves. I pulled it out of there and put her dress in the bag. Zipped it up and put it back.

I swear to you I did not put my dress in the eaves let alone so willy-nilly.

Memories are such strange things. Almost as odd as dreams. You can never fully trust them unless they are utterly burned into your brain. Even then, sadly, it can be ify.

I got the idea that maybe someone got married at our house. My brother in-law got married here and I thought I could recall at least one someone else doing the same.

Hubby and I had our coffee, we watched the terrible news, we went outside and took care of the snow. When we came back in and he was siting down, I stood directly in front of him so he knew I was serious but something strange was coming. He looked me and I said; “Close your eyes.” And he did. “Search way back in your memory. Did someone other than Freddie get married here?”

He sat there, eyes closed, hands open, for a moment and I watched his face change as he uttered; “Yes.”

But he couldn’t remember who.

Damn!

My Oldest came out and said she thought, when she was young, I actually performed either a Handfasting ceremony or a renewal of vows in the yard. She thought maybe it was a renewal for long ago friends who I was once in a coven with and who shall remain nameless here. For the life of me I can’t remember any such thing but she seemed pretty sure of it. I am only in touch with one person from the ancient coven. Thirty years later the rest are…well…it’s a long story.

I got on Messenger. I asked her. She wasn’t sure. We chit chatted and both remembered and agreed we’d held one ritual here for which there was one picture. We discovered we both still had it. The woman of the couple in question was wearing a red handkerchief dress. Definitely not a wedding dress.

So much for that but it was really nice to catch up with my friend for a bit.

Yet the mystery remains and it’s starting to drive me up a wall.

Did you get married at my house?

I know people than Freddie have but like my hubby I can’t remember who. The Universe has erased the knowledge from our minds.

Is this your dress?

I know both of them are in crappy shape but, again please help me out here ladies; if you were still married to the same person for 30 years, wouldn’t you want to know where your wedding dress is? I feel like I’m holding on to a piece of someone else’s history. I’d like to see it returned if possible.

Anyway, as a side note, I also found my senior prom dress in the eaves. If anyone out there is a size 5 and wants to be Carrie at the Prom I may have a dress for you. Not perfect but not bad either.