One day and counting…
Ready to do this thing!!!
One day and counting…
Ready to do this thing!!!
Yesterday was bachelor party #1. (Yes, that’s right, he’s having 2– I’m sure at some point in the next 13 days we’ll get to that). And I’m going to be totally upfront about this: I was jealous. I am and really always have been “one of the boys.” Usually when there’s boy fun to be had, I’m front and center– often the one lady in the mix. I don’t know why that is exactly… I mean, I could surmise. I would say from a very young age I identified with the guys because that felt like the place of power. I was always wanting to compete with my brother, and father and therefore assumed a more masculine role. It has only been very recently, as a fully grown woman that I have realized and become more comfortable with power of my femininity and have begun embracing the watery feminine. But I’m still one of the boys.
I do of course understand that the idea of a bachelor party is that the dude who’s getting married is taking one last night and getting away from the ball and chain. My partner and I are just so far from that ball and chain dynamic… but I intellectually completely understood why I was not included in the bachelor party process. This did not keep me from feeling jealous about the whole thing, however.
It was fine, I was having a girly day of cupcake making with my favorite little lady. I dropped my partner off at his friend’s house around noon. The party was an all day affair. I told him to let me know if he needed me to pick him up. Then I went off to my baking adventures. I didn’t hear anything from my partner for the rest of the day.
Around 10 pm I was sitting on the couch writing about adventures in cupcakes with a rather foggy brain courtesy of those cupcakes, and I found myself wishing my sweet man were sitting next to me– or at least somewhere in close proximity. I texted a friend of ours who had been at the party earlier in the day and tagged out around 7:30 to do parenting duty. I asked him if he knew the evening’s itinerary, trying to gauge when I might expect my man home. He did not. I let it go and continued writing. Around midnight I realized that because of the wonder of daylight savings time, it was actually 1 am and I should probably hang it up and go to bed. I needed to wake up at 8 am the next morning to teach a class at 9 am. I considered texting him goodnight and then thought better of it. This was HIS night to be a bachelor and not have to be bothered by his lady. I figured that he would probably be staying over at his friend’s house at this point, his keys were hanging by the front door, and it was 1 am.
I gathered up the six pillows on our bed and made them into a nest just for ME and settled right into the middle of the bed. I read one page of the book I had just purchased for myself earlier in the day– and then settled to sleep quickly and easily. I slept soundly until I was awoken at 4:15 by the sound of the back door, which is right outside one of our bedroom windows. I bounded up out of bed instinctively, opened our bedroom door and saw the face of my love plastered up against the square window of our back door. I was in the middle of a deep sleep and bewildered at his 4:15 arrival. I opened the door, not really looking at him and immediately fell back into bed.
He didn’t come into our bedroom right away. I heard him moving through the house and then the sound of the shower turning on. I was no longer in a deep sleep. I was AWAKE. VERY AWAKE. He finished showering and came into our room, plopping into the bed next to me asking if I was awake. I grunted at him. I was not feeling conversational and was rather annoyed that he had risen me out of my 4:15 am slumber. He slung an arm across me and thirty seconds later was snoring like a buzz saw– louder than usual, and probably magnified by my annoyance. Several minutes into the saw symphony I attempted to roll over at which point he whined at me and tightened the grip with his arm. I was not feeling the warm and generous love that is so often in my heart for him. Rather, I was feeling annoyed and put out– and neither of those things was helping me fall back to sleep, not to mention the symphony of snores. I lay there for several more minutes and then said, “baby, you’re snoring really loud.”
He awoke for about fifteen seconds, shifted his position slightly and settled back into his symphony. I was done. I wriggled out from under his arm, grabbed two pillows, a big rose quartz stone, and my phone (alarm clock) then headed out to the couch in the living room, the one right underneath our constantly ticking, rings-every-30-minutes clock. I thought for a moment about stopping it and then decided against it. I arranged my two pillows, got two blankets and placed the rose quartz inside my shirt on top of my heart. I looked at my clock– it read 4:48 am. I rolled my eyes in annoyance and snuggled up and fell asleep immediately. I slept soundly, the chimes of the clock never waking me.
My alarm went off at 8 am and I awoke aware that I had dreams of conflict with my man, but unable to recall the details. I got up and gathered my pillows, knowing that he had no idea I had slept on the couch. I opened the door to our room and he opened his eyes. I looked at him and plopped the two pillows on the bed. I sat down on the bed and said (luckily he recalled my words perfectly and recounted them to me this evening) “Next time you’re thinking about coming home at 4 am, DON’T.” He said he wasn’t sure whether to giggle or look sheepish. He did the latter. I then told him he was snoring really loudly so I slept on the couch. I snuggled up to him, asked him if he had fun and if he wanted me to set an alarm for him to get up. I gathered my clothes and got myself ready for the day. I found his phone in his coat pocket, set the alarm for 10 am and set it next to his side of the bed before leaving. He was back to sleep, or at least pretending to be. I headed off to work.
I sent him a text when I finished working telling him I loved him. He responded “thank goodness” and then we proceeded with more silliness from there. When he got home in the evening we laughed about the events of the morning– he quoted my 4 am statement and then reenacted me opening the door for him, which was hilarious. He recounted the events of the night to me and told me that the one thing it was missing was Mandy Lou (that’s me). And I guess while that’s not something I needed to hear, it was really nice to hear it anyway.
My partner and I have a rare and special bond. He’s my very best friend. I relish the time I spend with him and most of the time we spend together is full of smiles and laughter. We are two fully formed, healthy adults who happen to enjoy each other’s company immensely, and are lucky enough to have figured that out.
In 13 days I’m gonna marry the crap out of him.
In just 14 short days I can no longer call myself a single woman.
Today my 11 year old maid of honor and I had another adventure together– but for this adventure we didn’t even leave the comfort of our home. We donned our aprons and got down to baking wedding cupcakes! I am a DIY kinda girl, to a fault. My preference tends to be to do something myself if it’s humanly possible, (and most things are). So, while I am not crazy enough to make my own wedding cake– wedding CUPcakes are right up my alley.
About a month and a half ago my partner and I embarked upon the Whole 30 journey together. For those of you who aren’t familiar with the Whole 30– it’s basically a 30 day elimination diet in which you take all sweeteners, alcohol, dairy, peanuts, grains and processed foods out of your eating repertoire. In short, you eat a lot of meat, vegetables, fruits and nuts. It was a life-changing experience. Truly. We did it because the holidays were a little more over-the-top than usual this year– and it just felt like we needed a reset. It was all that and more. It really allowed me to examine and ultimately change my relationship with food. Food has for as long as I can remember been something that I’ve used to fill myself when I feel empty– regardless of what my physical body needs. It has been comfort as opposed to fuel. These 30 days of conscious eating really turned that on its head. My partner also had a similar experience. Long story short, we no longer have the desire to eat crappy food, and particularly at our wedding. So, instead of using the caterer we were going to use for our reception, we’re cooking! (of course) And we’re MAKING PALEO CUPCAKES!!
Last weekend was Phase 1 of the Paleo baking challenge, it having been the first time either of myself or my daughter had ever attempted any paleo baking. We googled paleo cupcake recipes– my original thought was we’d do a vanilla and a chocolate. The first recipe my eager little maid of honor found and decided she was in love with was of course neither, but strawberry shortcake. SO, we decided we would do chocolate, vanilla and strawberry shortcake.
We decided to make six of each so as not to have a glut of cupcakes on our hands and eagerly began our endeavor. We started with strawberry, worked our way to chocolate and ended with vanilla. The strawberry were made with almond flour and sank a bit in the middle, we made notes and came up with a game plan of what we needed to do differently. The chocolate had coconut flour, coconut milk and coconut oil and turned out a bit dry but had the MOST AMAZING frosting that was composed of simply: melted semi-sweet chocolate, cashew butter, coconut oil and vanilla. DIVINE. The vanilla were underwhelming. Not bad– but not something to write home about– and definitely not wedding-worthy. Just because we only ended up with 18 cupcakes, however does not mean that this was not a ridiculously time-consuming labor of love, because it was definitely that. Regardless though, we agreed to find a new vanilla recipe and reconvene the following week for more mother-daughter baking fun.
Phase 2 of the Paleo baking challenge began today going over our adjustments and getting our game plan down. We decided to maintain the same baking order starting with the strawberry which we decided to use freeze dried strawberries in this time around, as well as the food processor as opposed to our weird ninja blender which was a bit of a debacle during Phase 1. The batter was very different, much thicker but they turned out well. No sinking middles. We added a little more moisture to the chocolate, baked them for five minutes less. Hey, we’re really experienced paleo bakers at this point– we’ve got this all figured out. And last but not least our new vanilla recipe which used almond flour instead of coconut and came out of the oven seeming pretty awesome.
Then we got to the frosting making. Good lord. Paleo baking THREE different kinds of cupcakes and making THREE different kinds of frostings for said cupcakes is very time consuming and A LOT of work. Also, our kitchen is the size of a postage stamp with very little counter space. At one point my daughter was literally on the ground with the electric mixer making frosting because there was absolutely no where else for her to be. But, these are the things that make wedding adventures fun. We managed to push our way through all the way to the frosting being in the piping bags and my daughter putting together the gold cupcake stand that I had excitedly ordered from Amazon several weeks earlier AGAINST her approval. As she took it out of the box she said, “this is really pretty, I like it.” I reminded her she told me not to order it. “I know.” she said. Of course she knows.
When we finally got all of the cupcakes decorated (I’m not even going to get into the frosting-making debacles– it would take me until tomorrow)– we were well past hungry, having yet to eat dinner, and decided we would share one of each. We started with the strawberry, the frosting literally slid off the side of the cupcake as my daughter peeled off the paper. We each took a bite and agreed that it was better than last week– freeze-dried strawberries were the way to go– but we had some serious figuring to do with the frosting, and we didn’t really know where to start. Next we went for vanilla, we figured we knew we loved the chocolate, that’s why we made more of those really, to eat them. We both agreed the vanilla was an improvement over last week. There was a lack of enthusiasm in our reactions, however– like we were trying to convince ourselves of something… Then we got to the chocolate. mmmmmmmmmh was the satisfied hum from my daughter after biting in. “These are SO GOOD!!”
Now THAT sounds wedding worthy. “What if we just did the chocolate for the wedding?” I heard myself saying out loud. We both sat there and tried to convince ourselves of why that was a bad idea– and every reason we shot down immediately. And then I started thinking about making just ONE kind of cupcake and ONE kind of frosting (in addition to the entire dinner I’ll be making) and the concept of making three different kinds all of a sudden seemed absolutely LUDICROUS.
K. I. S. S.
Keep It Simple, Stupid.
I’m getting married 14 days from now and there is SO much to be done before that– and making three kinds of cupcakes is NOT going to be on that ridiculous list of mine. Because chocolate is my favorite anyway.
My partner and I just completed a meeting with our friend who is marrying us, discussing details of our rapidly approaching wedding ceremony. When I began having visions of our wedding back in the Fall, there were a couple of things that were crystal clear about it. The first was that it would take place on 3/24/18– five years after our first date. The second was that our dear friend who introduced us would be the one who married us, because in my partner’s words: “this is all his fault.”
I first met my soon-to-be husband six years ago on a random day in February. I was at my studio around midday. I wasn’t in a session, but sitting at the front desk, when the studio door opened and in walked my friend with a handsome and mysterious stranger. The stranger had a blue bandana on his head and a scruffy face. The second he stepped into my space my eyes were riveted to him– and alarm bells in my head began sounding loudly. My friend sauntered in casually, stranger in tow, as if midday stop-ins were something he did all the time. (In actuality he had never before stopped by my studio unannounced). He introduced the stranger, giving absolutely no context for who he was or what he was doing there.
We stood in the entrance to my studio talking for several minutes. To be honest I have absolutely no idea how much time passed– it could have been five minutes, it could have been forty five. All I know is that I was singularly focused on this human being who had just walked into my sphere from out of nowhere with absolutely no warning. And he was having a profound affect on my entire nervous system. I found myself talking to my friend about I-have-no-idea-what while Mr. Mysterious talked to my friend and colleague who was also in the the studio at the time. I was aware of the tenor of his voice as it rose and fell in conversation and I felt literally drawn magnetically towards him. It was all I could do to resist the force of the attraction, and I’m still unclear on how I was able to maintain a conversation. The details are blurry, the gestalt is what is crystal clear.
At some point conversations wrapped up and my friend and Mystery man left the building. I IMMEDIATELY texted my friend: “Who IS he?” (As in, give me some context for this handsome stranger, please.) His response was “He’s an international man of mystery.” EYE ROLL. Really??
That evening I decided that we needed to take some of my daughter’s dresses over to my friend’s new baby– Mr. Mystery’s god-daughter and the reason for his visit. I was determined that I would see this beautiful, magnetic man as much as possible in the indeterminate amount of time that he was in our fair city. I packed up a bunch of baby clothes and my two children, who were 5 and 9 at the time and headed over to our friend’s house for a “casual drop in” just like the one my friend had staged earlier. (Again, this “drop in” was unprecedented.) I soaked up as much as I could of Mr. handsome while my children ran wild around my friends’ living room– a joyful representation of what these new parents had to look forward to.
I managed to see Mr. International again the next night at a party. (I completely arranged this– it was not random.) This was probably more social interaction than I had had in months– I was a single mom and a complete introvert. It was during the party that I casually arranged for us to do a bodywork trade while he was in Portland. BOOM.
I worked on him first. Putting my hands on his body was intense. He was completely stalwart throughout the session– saying next to nothing and maintaining complete external composure. But I felt his internal energetic monologue and it was far from composed. There was a storm brewing just beneath the surface of this mysterious man which despite his best efforts he could not hide from me. I made him a flower essence at the end of the session, sitting right next to the table and again I felt his gravitational pull tugging on me. I wanted to settle into him. (I realized this was inappropriate and resisted). He worked on me the next day. His hands were firm and strong and somehow familiar. I fell into an ease with him that was unlike anything I had experienced before.
We talked a bit about his plans and where he was headed next– ultimately back to Thailand. And then he was gone. We exchanged emails a couple of times over the next year and chatted over the computer. I read his blog and was immediately turned off by the grammatical and spelling errors. (curse of an English major). And then a year later I received an e-mail that he had moved into town and he wondered if I wanted to start up a bodywork trade.
When he first reached out to me I was in the midst of a long-distance whirlwind romance with an old flame from high school. I remember thinking– what? now? Mr. Mystery? “WHY ARE YOU TOYING WITH ME UNIVERSE??” And then my old flame abruptly ended our long distance affair. I saw Mr. Handsome for a couple of trades and then decided what the hell and asked him out on a date. My kids were away for Spring break in California with their dad– and I realized I had nothing to lose.
On 3/24/13 Mr. Mystery and I hit the town and painted it red. The days and weeks and years to follow have been a consistent process of building and strengthening a massive foundation of trust, friendship and love. He did not walk easily down this path in the beginning– for years he fought me– but some things are worth fighting for. “Consistency over a period of time” is how he first defined love for me– and that’s how we have ultimately defined this relationship. It is consistent and it continues to stand the test of time. Whatever comes our way I know he’s got my back as no one else ever has or will.
15 days from now I’m marrying an International Man of Mystery…
And I can hardly wait.
Ladies and Gentlemen… It gives me great pleasure to announce to you that: I found my wedding dress!!
And I LOVE it!!
I picked my daughter up from school today and our mission was clear: FIND THE DRESS; (no pressure, of course). We stopped by home before setting out, to fuel up properly before our expedition. When we got home we found a package waiting, a dress I ordered on Amazon Tuesday morning in the midst of my mini I-need-a-wedding-dress panic because it looked potentially okay and– I needed a wedding dress. It was a definite no– but got us primed for our dress-seeking journey. I’ve been itching to go to this new vintage dress shop a few blocks from our house since it opened several months ago– there’s always something that draws my eye as I walk past it. The last two days, since I’ve been in the dress market it’s been calling to me day and night. We set out on our mission both of us wearing our wedding boots outside for the first time.
We walked into the store and gave the woman our parameters; knee(ish) length, size 6 to 8, (the only color directive was NOT WHITE– no need to go through that again). I told her we were getting married in the forest and the boots were a part of the package. We went through and chose several different dresses– nine in total, she put them into the dressing room for me. My wedding dress was the second one I tried and I fell in love with it immediately. It fit me LIKE A GLOVE (a very tight glove). It has a rust-colored cummerbund that I’m not wearing in the picture because it too is glove-like. But again I cannot stress enough how much I LOVE this dress!!
I tried on every dress that we had taken into the dressing room– the last one I tried was a several-inches-above-the-knee, not-vintage silver piece of awesomeness. The shop owner called it a disco dress when I walked out with it on. I loved it as well and realized that my like-a-glove wedding dress would not necessarily be a gettin’ down and dancin’ dress. I made up my mind at that point that I would buy both dresses, one for the ceremony, one for the reception. YES.
I was all set and ready to make it happen and buy my beautiful dress(es) when my practical 11 year old maid of honor stepped in. (She does not get that practicality from me or her father– that is all her step-father– my husband-to-be). She asked if they would hold the dresses and told me that we really needed to go to the second shop on the list, the one where we found the original dress. I grudgingly agreed with her and we left the shop with me saying “see you soon!”
We walked back to our house and grabbed the car, the second shop being a bit more of a hike from our house. As we were driving I started thinking out loud about how incredibly different my daughter and I are. I also wondered out loud why we had left my dress(es) in that shop? “That’s my dress,” I distinctly remember saying to her several times. We drove to the other shop– she asked me if I could be open to other dresses– I told her I would try but… “that’s my dress.” We parked and got out of the car, walking the half block to the original scene of the dress buying crime…
It was CLOSED. The shop was dark. My heart leapt in celebration. “I’m coming for you!!” I shouted to my dress(es). My daughter annoyed, said, “I KNEW it was gonna be closed and then it would be a sign that it was your dress.” We walked back to the car and drove back to my dress(es). We were only away from them for about ten minutes. (Ten minutes too many in my world)– but they were there patiently waiting for us when we returned. I bought them happily and found out that the little silver number was on sale. SCORE. The numbers in the total price of the dresses added up to nine. (That’s my favorite number. It’s magical and I’m a little weird about it.) Seemed like kismet to me. And that’s my second dress story. I would say very few people get to successfully go wedding dress shopping with their maid of honor twice for the same wedding. But I have that privilege.
16 days from now I’m getting married.
And I know exactly what I’ll be wearing to do the marrying… and the dancing afterwards.
And that is a massive relief.
It’s 17 days now till the BIG EVENT.
Having the dress drama sorted at least to the point of understanding there is a dress to procure, I find myself turning my focus to the ceremonial aspects of the approaching nuptials. Yesterday I found myself humming a song that I hadn’t heard in years while I was teaching– the melody wouldn’t leave my head. I got home with the song still turning circles in my mind and finally found the song and played it. I realized as soon as I heard the first few notes that it was the processional for our ceremony. Check another detail off the list. BOOM.
I’m an interesting human being– difficult to precisely categorize. I’m incredibly detail oriented, but also operate much like a hurricane or tornado while in the midst of a creative process or project. I run in several different directions at all times. You could call me easily distracted, but I’m also capable of intense focus. I’m not much of a planner but I actually have an aptitude for creating very detailed order and structure. Hard to pin me down exactly. I’d say I have a very non-linear method of planning which would probably make anyone trying to plan this wedding (or anything) with me slightly crazy. Luckily– I’m heading up this one person committee, with my partner cheering from the sidelines and my daughter assisting when necessary. We seem to be going gangbusters.
The thing that is most present in my mind over the last day or so is the importance of calling together all of my womenfolk before the ceremony. I’m not really much of a “bachelorette” kind of girl. I’m not a big drinker and I don’t feel the need to go out and sew my wild oats. They’ve been sewn several times over. I’m a homebody. I feel happiest in my house, surrounded by the people I love. HOWEVER, I am about to get MARRIED, for REALS and I need to amass my women in some form before setting off into the forest for my nuptials on March 24th. As I began to sit with the idea of doing something with my women beforehand– what I was most struck by was the IMMENSE power of all of the women in my life and how amazing it would be to call them all together ceremoniously to give me their blessings before I head to the land of matrimony.
As much as I might like to play it cool and act like this wedding isn’t a big deal– that is completely untrue. It is a HUGE deal. Getting married to the man who is sleeping six inches away from me as I write this (yes, we’re living in sin– but only for 17 more days) is a MASSIVE acknowledgement. I have known quite honestly since the moment I laid eyes on him six years ago that our souls were intertwined in such a way that defied logic or explanation. But rather than get swept up in emotions or intangible intuitions, (that would never fly with him anyway) we have built a massive, sturdy foundation rooted in consistency, friendship, kindness, consideration and love. We have walked through fire and brimstone to get to the place where we stand now– and I am a witchy, witchy woman. I am going to CEREMONIALIZE the crap out of this event. So, all the more reason I need a super dose of magic from my ladies beforehand.
As my visions of the blessingway have been coming through what I am most struck by is the number of incredible women I have had the privilege to have come into contact with over the eleven years I’ve been residing in Portland. Each time I think about it, more of them pop into my mind, and I realize I can’t possibly miss the opportunity of calling them all together and harnessing their energy and love towards blessing the acknowledgement of this union. So– the blessingway IS HAPPENING!! I just texted a friend tonight to enlist her help in turning my visions into a tangible reality. She is DOWN. For those of you who don’t live in Portland and would like to join us remotely (yes, that is a VERY REAL thing)– it will be happening on Thursday, March 22nd at 9 pm pst. But you can send your blessings WHENEVER you like!
We are always open to receive!!!
In just 18 short days I will be married.
That’s not a word I necessarily thought I’d ever use to refer to myself again. I’ve taken the ride on marriage train once before. My partner has also had his own previous experience with said train. Neither of us felt particularly motivated to jump back on any sort of quickly moving vehicle. Rather we’ve taken a very slow and steady walk hand in hand towards this ceremony of matrimony. And now I need to find a dress.
This is not to say that I have put off getting a dress until eighteen days before my wedding– because I have not. Back in January (WAY ahead of schedule if operating under my usual parameters) I procured a wedding dress for myself. It was a 60’s knee length silk brocade* (more on this later) with a matching knee length jacket. (think Trinity from the Matrix, but in white silk brocade*). It was a YES from the moment I stepped out of the dressing room. The only slight problem with it was, it was white, not the blue that I had envisioned myself getting married in.
I bought it anyway. It was too close to perfect not to– and it was on sale. My rationale was, either I get married in white, or I have my best friend (a seamstress, artist, designer and all around bad-ass who lives in Asheville, NC) dye it. No big deal. It’s silk*, it’ll dye fine. I took a few days and hemmed and hawed over whether to dye or not to dye and ultimately realized that yes, undoubtedly the dress needed to be dyed to fulfill my vision. I sent it to North Carolina along with a love letter to my lady. A few days after she received it alarm bells rang loud and clear when she sent me a text with a picture of a few swatches she had dyed which barely registered any pigment.
She explained that there were a few reasons the fabric could not have taken the dye– maybe it was a blend, perhaps there was some sort of chemical on the fabric– she had solutions lined up, not to worry, everything was going to be fine. I proceeded with picking out the dye colors and she ordered the dye along with the solution she needed to wash the dress in. She also ordered a blue dye that was specially made to dye polyester, “just in case” my beautiful silk brocade* was actually, not.
The dyes took their sweet time but finally arrived. Shortly thereafter my best friend found herself stirring over a boiling blue-watered pot for over an hour, laboring in love as only a best friend can, because, you guessed it, my silk brocade* was actually a classic 1960’s polyester. She used the one blue dye available for polyester and boiled my dress and jacket in it. Then she pressed them, attempting to shape them back to their former glory. She sent me a picture of the blue, (I will say the dye job is beautifully even). She sounded stressed when I talked to her on the phone that night. In retrospect, I’m certain the dress must have been at least a small factor in that.
Yesterday morning I found the dress at my door, complete with a love note from my lady. The hour of boiling really took its toll. There are probably very few things that can withstand boiling water for an hour without having some very tangible alterations occur. My lovely silk brocade* wedding dress is no exception. The fabric is drastically different– thinner, the “brocade” has faded into the background, and the one shade of blue dye available for the dying of polyester eerily resembles the bright blue of the mats in my Pilates studio.
So, after talking to my best friend on the phone this morning– and getting her blessing to leave behind this labor of love, I find myself in the market for a wedding dress. This is not exactly where I thought I’d be eighteen days from my wedding– but I’m actually pretty excited about it. I no longer have any clear vision for my dress, I just know that I’ll know it when I see it (and that moment will be magical). And I am perfectly clear about that fact that whatever color it is the day that I buy it will also be the color it is the day I get married in it.
I don’t necessarily have a metaphor for what this dress is in the process of my wedding countdown– but I do know that I appreciate when the universe throws what might be considered adversity at me. It always feels like an opportunity to dig down a little deeper. A younger version of me would have “made due” with a dress that I didn’t love and didn’t feel good in because of the labor of love put forward by my best friend. I would have felt “obligated” to wear it because of her sacrifices. Now I understand that her labor of love was the gift, not the dress. The process and the story are the important things, not the product that came forth. My best friend doesn’t want me to wear a dress that is anything other than absolutely perfect on my wedding day.
And now I get to find a new DRESS!! Tastes like lemonade to me.