Something Old, Something New, Something Borrowed, Someone Blue
I have a new preferred method of self-torture… I’m addicted to wedding dress programmes. You know the ones: a bride-to-be and her entourage visit a magnificent boutique and evaluate the bride in a range of incredibly expensive gowns until they all cry and financially ruin the bride or her parents. Genius.
I tell myself that I’m watching it because I adore the dresses (which I do). I tell myself that perhaps one day I’ll be able to afford such opulence. I avoid telling myself that I’m only really watching in order to convince myself that the fairytale still exists.
Each bride describes how she has snagged the perfect man, how miracles do happen, how blessed they are to have found ‘the one’. And I, divorcee, sit on my sofa hoping that each of these women really are planning their one and only wedding. After all, if they’re spending between $3000 and $12000 on just the dress, then it’s probably a good idea to only do it once.
I’ve become quite the bridal fashion critic. Tulle? No thank you. Trumpet? No way. And I’m very fussy when it comes to lace. I make all these judgements while sat in oversized floral pyjama bottoms, a hoodie and fluffy slipper booties. Clearly a born fashionista.
If I do get remarried, I’m going to have real trouble choosing a dress. The styles I love do not love women my shape. But a girl can fantasise right? That’s what I’m doing about finding a groom after all.
I have friends who have given up all belief in finding true love. One in particular – a man – continually mocks my tenacious fingernail grip on the fairytale. For him, my rose tinted perspective on the world is naïve. But I just can’t bring myself to let go of it. And why should I? I’m certain there’s a Hugh Jackman look-a-like out there somewhere who has a thing for short, tubby redheads. Naïve? Me? Naaah. Just a cock-eyed optimist perhaps.
Today’s programme included a segment on a 69 year old woman renewing her vows as part of her Golden Wedding Anniversary celebrations. 50 years with the same man. And she looked radiant. The couple held hands, danced together, laughed and smiled, and literally sparkled as they looked at each other. My heart lurched. I shed a tear. It reminded me of The Notebook, and I scoffed at my cynical friend. True love exists. The sceptics in this world will not get this dreamer down.
I did the maths. If I met someone soon, and we married in the next couple of years, we’d only need to live until the ages of 90(ish) to achieve a Golden Wedding celebration. So it’s still possible, right? Probably best I switch off the tv and actually get out of my pyjamas and the house if I’m going to give myself a chance though.
Maybe tomorrow. There are still 5 episodes of Say Yes to the Dress saved on the planner I need to watch.