Respecting the Dress

So, this past weekend I attended a wedding dress potluck.

What's that, you ask?

Hint: it's exactly what it sounds like.

A bunch of ladies squeeze into our wedding dresses (bridesmaid dresses, or other formal attire), grab a dish to share, and get together with the common goal of wearing the shit out of clothes we don't often have a reason to use, stuffing our faces, and imbibing cocktails—like the classy chicks we are.

Fuckawesome idea, am I right?

Wish I could take the credit, but no. Thankfully a girlfriend of mine always comes up with the BEST ideas (hi, Jenny!).

See? This really happened. And those peach Bellinis were amazeballs.

Anyhow.

A few days before I was to head to this party, I was eyeing up our van... she was dirty. A winter's worth of garbage and gravel had accumulated. So I had the six year-old get to work (for marbles, natch), and began shaking out the floor mats.

Why?

Good question!

The easy answer is that I couldn't rationalize driving anywhere in that dirty ugly inordinately disgusting van while wearing my wedding dress.

Yes, the dress that has hung dormant in my closet for almost nine years...

Yes, the dress I have every intention of completely destroying in a "trash the dress" photo shoot (eventually) when my fabulous photographer cousin and I manage to sync our schedules... (Hiya, Mandy!)

Yes, the dress that, for all intents and purposes I COULDN'T CARE LESS ABOUT...

But I couldn't do it.

Couldn't fathom sitting in that driver's seat with the clutter and the garbage and the oh-god-what-the-hell-is-that?!-some-kind-of-science-experiment-gone-wrong?! littered about...

It's my wedding dress. Regardless of my ultimate intention of trashing her, she's still my dress.

And she deserves respect, yo.





[Yes, I had Mr Lannis take a pic of me on the boys' climber because I AM IN MY WEDDING DRESS! Shut up, you'd do it, too.]