THE MYSTERY OF THE ROGUE WEDDING DRESS

It's my anniversary this weekend. 34 years, but Duncan and I work together, so we get a multiplier. It's really more like 100.

I realize how lucky I am, especially when I watch The Bachelor.  So many of those people are nuts.  But they're all looking for love, which is how I justify wasting every Monday night.

There were ten bridesmaids in my wedding. I felt vindicated because I have three sisters and a multitude of nieces, but still, it was probably a bit excessive. Fortunately, Duncan had a sufficient contingent of family and friends to round up a wonderful group of groomsman.  But at one point he threatened to ask the wedding party limo driver to join the entourage.  He figured the guy was already dressed for the job and ready to go.

Whenever Duncan and I have a "big" anniversary (i.e., one that that ends in a 0 or 5), I put on my wedding dress, and parade down my street.  Initially, my neighbors thought it was cute. Now they just think I'm strange.  I think I scare small children.

The first year I decided to pull out the dress, I ran into a bit of a roadblock.  I went to my closet, ripped open the hermetically sealed box, and pulled out a gown that I didn't recognize.  The first thing I noticed was that it was totally the wrong size.  It was also covered with some strange type of sequence (strange even for a wedding dress from the 1980s).  But I couldn't be sure, so I actually combed our wedding pictures to confirm that it wasn't the frock that had adorned my body on the most important day of my life.

Can you imagine?  Pulling out somebody else's wedding dress? What in the world was it doing in my closet?  I must've moved it a dozen times, treating it like a most treasured possession.  But even worse – there was some poor soul out there searching for a dress that she would never find.  Maybe she didn't even know it was lost.  My heart grieved for her (even though I was still a little freaked out that the thing had ended up in my possession in the first place).

Frantically, I went back to my closet, and found another "keepsake box" squished into the dark recesses and covered in huge, genetically-modified dust bunnies This one, however, held what I was looking for. The dress that made Duncan and me official, all those years ago.  It had been waiting for me. Silently.  Patiently. Through the birth of two sons and one law firm, and the daily hustle and bustle of married life.

Then came the worst part.  I had to figure out what to do with the poor, orphaned garment that I had found first.  Given that I had no idea where it came from, I resigned to the fact there would never be a blissful reunion with its rightful owner.  So I carried it, lovingly, and with all due respect, into the local Goodwill, and cried as I walked back to my car, empty-handed.

That night, as I lay in bed, I actually wondered whether the dress felt cold, and frightened, all alone in the store.  I guess feelings run deep about wedding artifacts, and things that are loved, but lost.

This weekend, I will remember all the ordinary moments with Duncan that have made my life extraordinary.  The man who makes me complete; makes life fun, and exciting; and cooks all the meals in our household (initially out of desperation, but now out of sheer love).  The man with whom I look forward to sharing another 100 years.

Please do me a favor, and take the time to tell the special people in your life how much you love them.  You know who they are.  Hug them, with wild abandon, and be the last one to let go.

Then go put on your wedding dress, for no reason, and embrace life in it.  Assuming you can find the right dress.  Do it, even if only for a few minutes, and even if you have to leave the zipper down.   No one you love will be looking at the zipper.  I promise.