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It Wasn’t Mine, Anyway

First of all, go read this.

(No, I mean it.  I’ll know whether or not you did, so no lying.)

I adore her writing, and the post (which you read, right?) made me write again after a month off.

(Image from here.)

So once upon a time, I had a wedding.

It got out of hand.

I was 23, and not even a very confident or self-aware 23.

His mom was a seamstress.  And a good one, too.  She really, really wanted to make my dress.

I assumed it was because she was feeling a surge of familial generosity towards her new daughter in law.  And I don’t doubt that that instinct was part of why she made the offer.  But as would become glaringly apparent while planning the wedding, girlfriend had major control issues.  If she made the dress, she would have complete control over one of the big memories that people would take away from the day.

I gave her some ideas, cut some pictures out of bridal magazines.  She looked at them, thanked me for the input.  And roundly ignored the majority of it.

If you look at the pictures, in the big, leather-bound album that rarely sees light, it’s sad.  Not one part of the dress, the long  and unbecoming lace sleeves, the awkwardly cut neckline, the body skimming fabric that serves to highlight my ample stomach (no I wasn’t knocked up, just fat) all explain the hollow look in my eyes.  I felt horrible.  I felt like I was ugly, and this dress was what I deserved, because let’s face it, no dress was ever going to make me pretty.  I felt resigned.

When the day was mercifully over, I shoved the dress into a duffel bag.  There were expectations as to how this “heirloom” would be preserved, so I dutifully took it to a cleaner, who claimed to be an expert at this sort of thing.  I hoisted the bag onto the counter.  He put on glasses, and looked disapprovingly down his nose through them, surveying the damage I’d manage to inflict on Italian silk.  He seemed confident he could get the stains out, and knew exactly what steps to take, to make sure my daughter would wear it one day.  I didn’t have it in me to tell him I wouldn’t wish that on my imaginary child.

I picked it up two days later.  It was firmly packed into an enormous cardboard box, replete with layers of blue plastic, to protect it from the UV rays it would never see.

It stayed in my in-laws’ basement, undisturbed for several years.

One day, bored and curious, I opened the box.

I gently removed the dress.  Tried it on.

In the intervening years, I’d lost 90 pounds.  The dress hung.  Comically so.  I laughed till I cried.

I started up the stairs, calling to my mother in law to come and see this.

She looked.  She gasped.  And for some reason, I thought she’d laugh with me.

Nope.

“Oh my GOD!! You took it OUT?!?  What were you thinking?”

The laughter died, suddenly.  I quietly unzipped it, folded it, laid it back in the box.

And as I closed the box, I realized.

The dress had never been mine.

The Scene:  My Living Room

Me, at my laptop, fucking around doing very important, writerly things.

(Distinctive “bing-bong” tone lets me know there’s a new text.)

Walk to the kitchen, clear across the house, where phone is charging.

Text is from sister.  Who is upstairs.  And was directly over my head, when I was comfy with laptop.

“Can you come kill a spider?”

Spider meets an untimely end.  Sister is grateful.

That was kind of ridiculous.  And awesome.

Fin.

(spider image from here)

A’in some Qs

So sometimes, you just want to write, but not really about anything, and you read a post on a blog like, oh, say, Here in Franklin, and you go “THAT’S what I need to write about! “  So you shamelessly get yourself tagged.  And the author of said blog is nice enough to give you some questions.  And then you write that thing.

1. You have magical powers and can go back in time to the concert of your choice. Who is it?
I have magical powers, and I’ve chosen to use them on a concert?  Weird.  I kind of assumed that if I ever had magical powers, I’d use them to, you know, cure cancer, or invent the ever-growing vodka-bush.  But OK, back to the concert.  I’m going with Elvis Costello, anytime in the 70′s.  I got to see him in February, and while it was all kinds of awesome, it made me even sadder that I never saw him young and angry.

2. You must choose between two candidates to be Ruler of the World. One is a cat. One is a dog. Who do you vote for and why?

You’re kidding, right?  The cat, of course.  Because while I am on record as saying cats are evil, dogs lack focus.  A cat would get shit done.  Of course, it would be in his own damn time, but still.

3. Mountains or beach?

Oddly enough, I find both those options terribly disorienting.  The mountains more, though.  So I’m going with beach.  (But really, if I had to pick one landscape forever, I’d probably go with bald-ass prairie.  Hated it when I was a kid, and there were no other options, but now it calms me down like nothing else.)

(photo from here)

4. Are you interested at all in the local politics where you live, or do you only pay attention in national elections?

I go back and forth on that one.  The same political party has been in power in this province since before I was born, so it feels a little futile to give a damn.

5. You have the opportunity to tell off the person you most despise without any repercussions. Do you? Who is it?

While I have a couple of people in mind….I’m going with a no, I don’t tell them off.  Repercussions or no, it has never, ever made me feel any better to tell someone off.  As soon as I’m done, I’m either regretting it, or kicking myself for not saying more.  Plus?  No one has ever changed their behaviour as a result of being told off.  Not really.

6. Do you have too much stuff or not enough stuff?

Neither.  I think I have the wrong stuff.  Everything I have feels like too much, but there’s so much other stuff I still want.

7.  The house is on fire. What do you grab first (excluding people and pets)?

My phone.  Not now, but a week ago, I would have.  Back when it had all my pictures of my kids and every song I love and the phone numbers of everyone I need.  You know, before IT CRASHED AND SENT ME INTO A DEEP PIT OF DESPAIR.

(image from here)

8. What place in the world would you visit again and again?

9. Do you ALWAYS answer the phone, or just let it ring?

I rarely answer it.  I have control issues.  (If I take your calls, you’re pretty freaking special.)

10. Does your family know about your blog?

Most of them. Does it restrict what gets written about?  Yeah, probably.  My sisters call bullshit when I get something wrong.  Keeps me on track ;)

(Thanks, lady, for the help.)



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(Image from here.)

So you know how you’re reading along in a blog, and all of a sudden, you get to a password protected post, and you’re all like “Oh my god, that is so LAME!  Screw this, I’m outta here!”?

Well, sorry, but I’m doing it.

The next post will be password protected.  It just kind of has to be.  There’s a fair chance I want you to read it, though.  Hit me up by email:  prayingtodarwin@hotmail.com to get said password.

And if it turns out I’m not able to provide you with the password, I hereby promise to instead provide an amusing childhood anecdote.  (Maybe.  If I’m in the mood.  And can remember anything good.  Which I usually can’t.  OK, you might be completely out of luck.  But it never hurts to try, does it?  Unless that try results in rejection.  You know what, I’m just going to stop, now.)

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