it’s not…

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It’s frippery, this time with no photos. As always, if you are currently engaged to me, please do not click through.


I have my wedding dress attire. It arrived in the mail about ten days ago. I’ve tried it on three times, and every time, I twirl and swirl in glee.
It’s not a dress. It’s a skirt and top.
It’s not lace or satin or taffeta or any other typical wedding-dress fabric. It’s a light, loose, liquid rayon jersey.
It’s not white. It’s deep blue.
It’s not fancy or formal. I can bend and stretch and sit on the floor with the kids.
It’s not a big expensive* formal princess dress. It’s simple, comfortable, and handsome. I’ll look like me, just a very happy, pretty me.
*And — hey, why not brag? — it cost less than forty bucks, including shipping!
It’s not a dress that screams BRIDE. We’re having a smallish wedding with only our dear friends and family; no one will have any trouble remember who’s getting married. And if they do, they can just look for the big handsome guy and the tipsy broad with the big smile who’s following him around.
In case it’s not clear:
This dress outfit? It’s not traditional or fluffy or fancy. It’s not any of the things I’ve been striving to avoid. It’s not some generic, iconic bride-uniform.
It’s me.

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