The Wedding Dress
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The only other item in the window was a matching headdress, a hoop of artificial orange blossom with a full veil attached to give a hint of mystery as she entered the church, and to be flung back after the ceremony to reveal her beauty and happiness as she led the bridal procession from the church.
I stood for some time admiring the dress and dreaming. I felt the excitement of the wedding morning, the last minute preparations to ones hair by the attendant hairdresser, the beauty treatment and the make-up, the careful adjustment of the new bra specially bought for the occasion to fit under the dress, the feel of the new expensive sheer stockings as I rolled them on to my freshly smooth legs and fastened them to the suspender belt (not new, but worn in compliance with the old adage about something old, something new, something borrowed and something blue).
I would have borrowed my sister's lovely earrings and tucked a pale blue handkerchief away out of sight for emergency use. I could imagine the giggles of my bridesmaids - hiding their nervousness on this great occasion - and, taking my father's arm, I would have sailed down the aisle to be given away by him to the man of my choice, to love, honour and obey him as commanded in the words of the age-old service.
I could have afforded to buy it to live my dream in the privacy of my own home, but I knew as I asked the assistant that the dress was at least two sizes too small. She offered to show me other dresses, but this was my dream and I fled the shop, but not without a backward glance at the dress in the window.
I passed that way again about a fortnight later. The dress had gone from the window, presumably sold.
I wonder who the lucky girl is? I would have liked to have met her. From the bottom of my heart I wish her all joy in the wearing of my dress, and all the happiness for the future.
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