Did you know that after my wedding day, on which I wore a white, lacy, sequined, beaded, floofy wedding dress that I loved, I took off that dress and shoved it into a large, white trash bag?
Not immediately, or anything. Just after it had been hanging in my closet for five years and I wanted the closet space back. That's five years of staring at it every freaking morning, people. And feeling guilty that I hadn't yet bothered to have it professionally cleaned and preserved, which I guess is what you're supposed to do.
Did you know I would have had to pay in the neighborhood of $187 to have it cleaned?
Did you know I bought the dress on eBay from a wedding shop closeout for $200? I mean, come on. It's not like my daughters are going to wear it on their wedding day.
Recently Gertrude has discovered Our Wedding. She pores over the photo album. She wears Matilda's flower girl dress. She begs to try on my ring. Her eyes light up when she sees pictures of me in the wedding dress.
"Oh, Mom! You look so beautiful in this dress! I just love this dress. I'm going to wear that dress when I get married to Daddy."
Oh, did I forget to mention? She's entirely convinced she's going to marry her daddy. Not a man like her daddy. Him.
I knew the Daddy worship was strong in our house, but I didn't realize it was this strong.
"Sweetie, you can't marry your Dad."
"Yes, I can."
"But he's already married."
Gertrude thought for a moment and mused, "You can't be married to two people..."
"Not in these parts."
Gert had an ah-ha moment and held up her finger. "You will have to find a different man to marry."
"But…!" I protested.
"That's okay, Mommy," she said, with earnest sympathy. "I'm sure you will find someone."
Was that the sound of a wedding dress laughing at me from inside its little trash bag cocoon?