As a little girl I remember seeing my Mama's wedding portrait hanging in the living room and hearing bits and pieces about her wedding. I am a believer that every southern mother barely survives her wedding and in turn decides she will relive her "dream" when her daughter gets married. Well I survived my wedding. When the doctor said "It's a girl!" unlike many of my friends who started planning the wedding that day (may the circle go unbroken) I just prayed my daughters would elope. Twenty eight years later that was not to be. I did not want to relive "the dream", I just hoped to avoid a nightmare. This is the blog about my book, The Mother of Bride Should Never Wear Blue and a Proper Southern Wedding in Never at Low Tide, my story of three weddings.

Saturday, May 10, 2014

Chapter 31, Say Yes to the Dress

A few paragraphs from Chapter 31, Say Yes to the Dress
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I despise reality TV. But I was aware of a show called, ‘Say Yes to the Dress’. Just from the ads I saw, it involved a lethal combination of divas and their search for a weddings dress - talk about drama.
       I cannot decide which would be more annoying of two scenarios. First there was the episode following the southern girl with her mother in tow trying to make sure she chose some gown that involved a hoop skirt, cathedral train, and required a cadre of young girls to keep it perfectly aligned as she glided down the aisle like a float in the Tournament of Roses parade. 
        Then they featured the girl from Staten Island, whose voice would rip wallpaper clean off the wall, who stated right up front, she liked sexy and bling as she shook her long bleached tresses from her face. Spare me.
         My husband asked me if our daughter had even considered wearing my wedding dress. It is a good thing I didn't get my feelings hurt because both of my daughters made it very clear they did not plan to wear my wedding dress when they got married. In fact only their polite southern upbringing thinly veiled their disgust over the fashion of my day or lack thereof. 
       So my mother wore an elegant sleeveless satin gown with a fitted lace bodice over it (and her 18 inch waist) and my daughter planned to wear a slender white lace gown that fit her tall thin figure. Then there was me, who chose something more like a fairy tale. Don't think Cinderella, my gown was more akin to the dress Princess Fiona wore - after she kissed her Prince. 
        As life moved on I went with my daughter for the fitting of her wedding gown. The store or rather I should say boutique was in Charleston and specialized in upscale designer gowns and the owner took very good care of her customers. 
       The appointment ahead of us was running a little late, so I took that time to look through the racks of gowns. The styles had changed a lot since the days of my provincial gown. In fact thinking back on it,  comparatively speaking, my gown looked like something out of a bad opera before the fat lady sang. These gowns were breathtaking, well most were. Some were a little over the top 
(after all, one had to cater to the divas.) 

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