I'm working on a newspaper story about bridesmaid dresses to tie in with the movie, "27 Dresses," and as part of my research my daughter and I went to see the movie, and we also went to check out some real bridesmaid dresses at a local bridal shop today.
I have to admit, I found the selection surprisingly not awful. I'm not sure what I was expecting, but there wasn't a cowgirl or Scarlett in the bunch. After I'd gotten all the information I needed for my story, I put my pen and pad away and we ventured upstairs to see THE dresses.
There was one room for white wedding gowns, and one with ivory. We gravitated toward the ivory because they looked softer, and well, as the mother of three, a white wedding dress doesn't seem to be in my future, and my daughter didn't like them for herself either.
As we waded through yards of ivory taffeta, satin and tulle, I thought about how for so many girls and women this is Mecca - the Holy Grail, the ultimate goal.
The first time I got "married" I was five. I walked down a make-believe aisle in Kathy Porter's back yard carrying a bouquet that consisted of a large hydrangea flower, with a tea-towel on my head. The groom was someone's unsuspecting little brother lassoed into our world of pretend who surely would have preferred to be back with the guys (some things never change, do they?). The fantasy started early for sure.
Maybe the good news is that despite the hard-knocks of life, divorce, painful breakups and bad first dates, is that hope does indeed spring eternal. Maybe there's something about the prospect of possibility that all those pristine and perfectly lovely dresses hold. And perhaps that's why I still cry at happy endings; because I think that as hokey as it sounds, my own could be right around the corner.
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