I’m about to blather on about wedding dresses; men avert your eyes…

… No, I’m not engaged. But so what. I want to talk about wedding dresses. One time a friend of mine and I bought big ugly cubic zirconia rings and pretended to be engaged just to be able to try on the dresses. We made an appointment at a local bridal shop and had a blast drinking champagne and talking about our dashing fiancées, Charles and Sebastian *wink wink*, with the sales clerk.

I’ve always wanted to go to one of those super sales at David’s Bridal and buy a $99 wedding dress, you know, just to have. Every girl needs a nice little frock to wear about the house, scrubbing pots and doing laundry. Imagine how much more glamorous it would make even the simplest of chores.


Have you ever been to confession and gone into to church at the tail end of a wedding and the wedding party was still hanging about getting their photos taken? Then you know of which I speak. Good Lord, what happened to the Wedding Dress?! If I were Queen of the Land I would outlaw strapless wedding gowns, backless wedding gowns, and cleavage baring gowns. If I were Pope of the Land I would decree that no priest could wed a couple where the bride was showing her breasts.


I’m addicted to Say Yes to the Dress. Actually, I’m addicted to mocking the whorish ensembles those women chose. I watch that show sitting on my couch eating cereal for dinner with a side of box-o-wine, un-judged by a husband.


I’ve given a great deal of thought to the wedding dress I would wear, should I find a man willing and brave enough. It would be flowing, with shoulders and breasts covered. And not white, cause who are we kidding. I would wear long gloves and this fascinator.

The Margarete in Sand.

And if I never get married I can sit around the house in it and watch episodes of Downton Abbey. Win win.

Related Link: Diary of a Vintage Girl has a Vintage Wedding.

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