CAN'T BUY MEMORIES

I am a sentimental sap. I have the shirt I was wearing the first day I walked up to Jared in biology class and the one I was wearing the day he asked me to marry him, even though both have shrunk into oblivion. What is this weird phenomena where all of Jared and I’s shirts shrink UP instead of IN?

Last night I was at my grandmother’s house going through the last of my things that remained in my old room. I washed my hands of a large box of books and retrieved my old Veruca Salt costume. I’ve gotten so much better at letting things go, I really have.

But then there’s my wedding dress. From our first apt in Riverside to our new one in St. Nicholas, our homes have lacked the closet to hold the old girl. The dress has sat in its pink garment bag in the back of Grammie’s closet, taking up precious real estate all the while.

Here’s the thing: I don’t really like my wedding dress. It’s a beautiful floor length gown and when I look at it, I feel nothing. Well I take that back, I’ve grown a little bitter about it over the past year.

I had no idea I would be married at 22, freshly graduated making 10 bucks an hour. I always assumed I would be at least 25 if not 30 before tying the knot. Even though Jared and I talked about it constantly while we were dating, I was always afraid of being “that girl.” That girl who had 6 Pinterest boards of weddings, a dress picked out and a smug look on her face before the ring was even bought let alone on her finger. Wedding blogs were my drug of choice. I could look at them and let my mind float and scheme, and no one was any the wiser.

And then, I was engaged. And it was real. And I was getting married in 3 months. My parents were not in a place where they could help me buy a dress and I was on my own.

The first time I stepped into a bridal boutique my stomach began to churn. This was not helped when a zipper snagged on a hideous multi-tiered charmeuse nightmare and the shop girl literally had to CUT ME OUT. With scissors!  Wedding dress shopping was down-hill from there. I never found anything I liked and I refused to try on something I could never afford. It was incredibly stressful. It made me feel like a bad person with a bad body and a bad attitude.

I ended up finding this one at less than 300 dollars. It fit like a glove, the women in the store were incredibly kind and accommodating, I looked marginally skinny, and it needed no altering. My grandparents pitched in to help my buy it. I put it on lay-away and made 3 payments. It was luck.

The thing is this dress looks nothing like me. It was a dress for the day and that’s about it. Not good or bad, just a dress. I know that years of TLC have made me, and probably tons of other women, unrealistic about how we should feel about these things, but still. I should feel something right?

Which leaves me here, a year and a half (almost) after the big day and I still don’t know what to do with it. Sell it? Save it? Make a tiny blessing gown for the babies I will hopefully have one day? I was set on selling it last night. I had made up my mind. And then the guilt and pettiness set in. I would get so little money for this dress.  $175? $150? Money that would be spent and forgotten so quickly. And Goodwill? Please, don’t even get me started.

For now I will save this dress. I will clear a place in my spare bedroom, closet and hang it there. I will try it on occasionally to look at myself in the mirror. I will loan it out to anyone who may want to borrow it. Any other ideas for the fate of the dress?

P.S. I love my Dad’s face in this picture.