Features Jan-June 2003 |
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Rolled up in the back of the closet in our attic there lies an off-white unrecognizable heap that was my wedding gown. I bought it for $50 in 1961, and it has had an incredibly strange life since the February day when I wore it.
My husband's niece who is 4'11" wore it after having surgically removed about 6 inches from the bottom. There it lay on her closet floor for years getting older and yellower until she became engaged to be married and announced she would wear that far less-than-perfect gown on her wedding day. I couldn't believe it. This event was to be held in August, and I had been married in February, but she insisted upon being married in this long-sleeved, fully-lined relic. I gave up -- no use arguing with a 20-year old. The final blow came the night I was called away from a church meeting by my frantic daughter who was looking for my help with this further damaged gown. She had lain the gown across her bed with a package of Oreo cookies on top and gone off and left it. Our basset hound sneaked into her room and somehow the door closed behind the dog leaving her stranded. She managed to drag the gown and the cookies to the floor where she had a chocolate feast and left several puddles among the folds. I spent three very humid July weeks applying every stain remover suggested to me. I sponged the stains time and again without success. I finally suggested my daughter buy lace fabric encrusted with tiny seed pearls which I cut into floral shapes and appliqued to the gown. The sewing alone took up another week. On the first Saturday in August, she wore the gown. Friends came to the church just to see the gown. She looked lovely. It was 98 degrees that day. She was happy. This past Christmas Eve as the family was gathered around the dining room table this tragic wedding gown appeared again on this daughter's 16 year old daughter. My only comment was, "Oh, no, not again!!!" The Grandchildren ...
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