Wedding Store

        

        Another sight on my daily walks is a wedding dress boutique, of all stores to be near me. I have no reason to visit that shop, since I am forty-five years past my wedding day. I peer into the shop and happily notice women of all races inside at any given time. Phew. At least the shop is not that elitist. The space is lit with white modern light fixtures. There are small dressing rooms surrounding a large mirror and a platform

    I watch youngish women step into the store with their mothers and friends. I see their reflection in a three-way mirror. The women stand on a platform and view themselves this way and that. Many have an insecure look, being exposed as a bride in a mirror. Childlike, they put a finger up to their lips or cross their arms to cover their midsection. They do not seem like brides, more young girls trying on princess gowns. The young women are unaware that they can be viewed from the street.

        Most people probably walk by and ignore the establishment. But, I find it impossible to ignore a wedding dress boutique with an abundance of tule, lace, silk, and satin. I am drawn to the various shades of white and the lusciousness of so much splendor. Weddings are auspicious events in the life of a woman, an undeniable truth, women’s liberation notwithstanding. Either girls dream about getting married, or hope they will never marry. But marriage is a milestone, an entry into adult life, whether the couple is up to the challenge or not.

        I imagine—but cannot see—the miniature pearls and sparkles adorning the bodices of the dresses. Odd to see the twenty to thirtyish women, with their sloppy buns or ponytails, in strapless wedding gowns, modeling their choices. I think strapless wedding gowns are dumb. So few women look attractive in this style. Imagine, being afraid that your dress might slip down during the wedding and reception?

        My mind wanders to happiness. Will the women be happy? Who are they marrying? Will they be content? Thoughts travel to my wedding. I loved my wedding dress, an unusual flowing white gown with a hood instead of a veil. Bizarre as it sounds, the material was polyester. It was 1976 after all. The advantage of polyester is that it does not wrinkle. I fancied myself an angel or a spirit floating about the evening. The dress enabled me to be an ingenue, beguiling yet innocent, not that I was completely without experience. The dress fit me figuratively and actually. I was guileless, and the outfit emphasized my figure softly.

        Back to the young women of the 21st century who are rarely innocent but equally unjaded, I daresay. Do they understand what extraordinary compromises and adaptations will have to be made? Do they foresee that a strong, empathic partnership will be vital for the marriage to survive? Perhaps, it is better that they remain dewy-eyed. I wish them the best and not so much knowledge that their dreams will be destroyed before they begin. I hope the couples are compatible sexually and enjoy common interests. Mazel Tov!

 

 

Shirley Temple Hair

Owners look like their dogs and vice versa. Dogs and their keepers adapt to one another, so their appearances bear a resemblance. I saw look-a-likes in dog and mistress the other day. I viewed the canine and human from behind. The dog and mistress waddled their backsides slightly, not too much just a bit. As my eyes moved up, I observed the most remarkable similitude. The woman and the dog sported the curliest light brown hair I have ever seen. The shade was apricot, the description used for blondish—brownish poodles. The woman’s hair was the identical cheerful color, not like an apricot more the crust on a perfectly baked baguette or wheat shimmering in the sun. Small ringlet curls about two inches long covered their head and body respectively, perfect curlicues, not frizzy in the least. The spirals bounced. I was astounded. Did the woman copy her dog’s curls? The dog appeared to be a poodle mix, probably the very popular Labradoodle (yellow Labrador Retriever mated with Standard Poodle). Everyone who is anyone has one now. Of course, not me. I always picked rescue dogs, and these popular mixes were already spoken for or never abandoned. Or was the dog owner always a blondish-brownish curly haired person? Is that why she selected the breed? Upon closer inspection, I realized that the woman needed a haircut. The dog’s hair was actually better groomed. These are the crazy sights on my daily walks. Most people do not notice these quirky occurrences. The woman with the curly hair is probably reasonably affluent. Her clothes looked classy and coordinated. She wore a stylish, black down coat and hip high top black sneakers; and the dog, of course, is not cheap, since the combination breeds with poodles are very popular. As the woman walked along the brick path, bordered by a stone wall, I guessed she was headed for one of the beautiful brick brownstones that remind me of being in Belfast, Northern Ireland. Most people do not think of lovely brownstones when they think about Northern Ireland. However, when I visited Belfast, my hotel was near a university which was situated in an area of well-maintained townhouses. I wonder if the woman is happy and healthy? I did not see any indication of her emotional or physical states. She walked at a good pace on a brisk, sunny March day which told me she valued exercise to some degree. And that was it. Gone into the distance, out of my field of vision. I have not seen her again.