- I wasn't ever going to wear it again.
- I was never going to fit into it again.
- It's not that stunning so Fern probably wouldn't want to wear it.
- I didn't want to even come close to making Fern feel guilty for not wanting to wear it.
Last weekend Dan was away on a golfing trip to Florida, the kids were occupied elsewhere, and there was a Say Yes to the Dress marathon on TLC. I cozied up and watched six or eight episodes back to back.
Say Yes is a reality show set in Kleinfelds in NYC where all types of brides with their mothers/sisters/fiances/fathers come in to find "the dress" with budgets between $1500 and $15,000. I'm not sure why I'm drawn to this show, but I am. Maybe it's the audaciousness of the brides or the conflict of opinions within the entourage, dunno. Somewhere in all of that, Fern appeared and watched with me. We critique the dresses: too much lace, too plain, nice beading, ugly neckline, good train, makes her butt look big, etc.
After a while I confess to her I'm planning on giving away my dress and I explain why. She says, "Can I try it on?" "Sure," I say. We release it from the almost-20 years of dry-cleaning plastic it's been hiding in.
I had my dress made for me from an ivory cotton damask. It has a classic "ballroom" silhouette (stuff you learn by watching such a show) but has full-length lace sleeves attached under the arm, a zillion buttons up the back, and has large bows adorning the bodice and the train.
So Fern tries it on and I get many, but not all, the buttons done, just enough to keep it on. I spread out the train and there she was. Beautiful.
I'm not sure what shocked me most: the fact it nearly fit her, I'm just a couple inches taller than she is, (was I really that skinny!?) or that she doesn't want me to give it away. "Mom, we can just take off the lace sleeves and the bows, and it's beautiful."
I love it when she surprises me like that, it's fun.