Ive got a story for you, and its one of those oddly sweet memories that just keeps looping in my head.
So, the wedding dress is still here, but the marriage itself? Thats gone. The only thing left is the whole honesttoGod tale of how everything really happened.
When the new flats wardrobe started to burst at the seams, IMabelswore to my husband, Tom, that Id sort it out: toss the junk, give away or sell the bits we dont need (you might remember my little side story The Fashion Sacrifice).
I spent about an hour standing in that cramped little space, shuffling coats from one hanger to another, convincing myself why each piece mattered: this will be handy, thats for a walk with Baxter, and this one just in case theres a charity ball. The throwaway pile looked far too small. Everything felt important, almost like a part of me.
Then, out of nowhere, a dusty clothcovered bundle slipped out from the back of the closet.
What on earth is this? I muttered, squinting. Oh my, its my wedding dress! Not the sleek, Chanelstyle blue suit Id worn when we first signed the registers in the town hall a second time, but the actual dress from my very first wedding the one that travelled with me across oceans and years, like a relic from another life.
Id first walked down the aisle at twentyonealmost a teenager by todays standards, but practically an old maid back then. I could feel the puzzled, judging looks from acquaintances, the sympathetic sighs from married friends, and the worried glances from Mum and Gran.
Enter the suitor: a good lad from a respectable family, almost on his own, a year older, finishing up at university. I said yes. He was handsome, head over heels, I liked him, the parents gave their blessing. What more could you ask for? Some wild passion?
Dad always said passion was a writers fancy, not the stuff that holds a family together. So we planned a modest wedding at a little tearroomno grand halls, no limousines (and honestly, where would we even get those?).
When it came to the outfits, the adventure truly began. Tom managed to snag a suit with a voucher from the Newlyweds Outfit Shop, I got lucky with shoes, but the dress that was a whole other story. Back then brides looked like frosted cupcakesnylon, ruffles, bows the size of a propeller on an old biplane. It was all sweet and a bit laughable, sincere in its own way, but I didnt want that. No floorlength veil, no sweeping train that could knock over the cobbles of our street.
I imagined a dress that was specialunique yet practical, not just for a single night in a wardrobe, but fit for celebrations and everyday life. Mums seamstress suggested a white batiste gown dotted with tiny blue flowers and a corset. By then I was a little pregnantnaturally, after filing the paperwork at the registry office. Id kept the news from my folks, but a stiff corset and morning sickness just didnt mix. I mumbled something about the flowers and backed out.
Granddad and Gran, who were visiting from Israel, heard the news and said, Well make it our gift.
I waited for the parcel with a mix of excitement, joy, and a touch of fear. When I finally opened it, I could barely believe my eyes: the dress was simple yet elegant, very 1920sishsoft fabric, loose cut, horizontal pleats at the waist, hem just below the knee. No lace, no sequinsjust a light veil and delicate gloves that gave the whole look a quiet, noble modesty.
Tom insisted on the veilhe wanted everything real. He lifted me onto his shoulders and carried me up to the sixth floor after the ceremony. Then, with no romance flickering, we both fell onto the bed, exhausted, and fell asleep instantly. By half past six we had to dash to the airport for a flight to Wales for our honeymoon.
Three years later we moved to the States, and the dress, of course, came with us. I never got the chance to wear it again, though a couple of friends borrowed it for miniature weddings and were enviously thrilled. The rest just sighed in jealousy.
When the marriage finally fell apart and I was shifting to Europe, I tucked the dress back into my suitcase, just in case.
Fast forward a decade, I was standing in the same wardrobe, thinking, Its time to let it go. I snapped a few photos, wrote a short description, and posted it on Gumtreethe British version of a cheap online market where you can buy anything from a kettle to a hamster.
£98. I didnt want to scare people off, but I also wanted to show it wasnt a bargain bin find. To my surprise, it sold the very same day.
The buyer turned out to be a local, so we arranged to meet at a little café in the town centreno shipping fuss. I was already nursing a cappuccino and a croissant when a whirlwind of a young woman, about twentyseven, with light brown hair and blue eyes, swooped over to the table.
Blimey, its like looking at me when I was younger, I thought.
She examined the dress, gasped, turned it over in her hands, and chatted nonstop: Im from Poland, finishing my pharmacy degree, my fiancés Spanish, also studying and working. No help from anyone, but well manage on our own. Were doing a Gatsbystyle wedding for our matesfun and lively. Your dress is perfect, just magical!
I smiled and said, Thats wonderful. Im glad it helps. No money needed, just take it.
A tear slipped down my cheek and I thought, maybe this dress will bring you real happiness, dear. As for me, looking back, it wasnt all that bad: love, two great boys, travels, laughter. Just not the Hollywood kind of timing.
She left, and outside a fine drizzle felllight as a veil. I watched the rain and realised happiness comes in many forms. Sometimes its like a dress: not brandnew, but familiar. The key is that, at least once, it fits you just right.
I stirred my cooling cappuccino, chuckled, and thought, Better have another look through the wardrobetheres still plenty left in there.
