Everything has a story to tell
We hadn't enjoyed a Saturday morning get together since I don't know when. But whenever the three of us get together, it's always going to be filled with lively and sometimes hilarious conversation. And when a bestie’s birthday falls on a weekend, there is no excuse to not celebrate all day, hence, we the three stooges as the birthday girls’ father affectionately calls us these past thirty-five years headed off to lively King Street in search of a hipster organic, fair trade and sustainably farmed breakfast slash lunch and then endeavoured to stroll along the bustling retail strip, weaving in and out of one concept store to another.
Just when we thought we’d seen them all, we came across Vinnie’s. It was packed. People of all ages rummaged through the racks of clothing, groups of two and three youngsters sifted through the book section like it was a library. Handbags of all different materials and sizes mixed with shoes of every description. I hesitated before entering the Op-Shop, it's not my thing. Covid restrictions were not a necessity in this establishment either. But It wasn't the avant-garde Versace outfit in the window that drew us in, instead of like moths to a lightbulb, we fluttered to the line of wedding dresses discarded like old maids that hung the far-left wall. Whites of every shade morphed with layers of tulle, lace and sparkly beads that would make any Bedazzler aficionado proud.
Methodically we started from the left and worked our way through twenty-odd dresses, our fingers grazing the material as we shifted each dress aside.
‘This is a second wedding Wedding Dress.’
‘Mother of the bride. Do you think?’ I said holding up an olive-green garbage bag in polyester cotton that screamed to be worn with respectable shoes only.
‘Look at this nineties number, watch out!’ Madam M said fingering the Swarovski crystals delicately sewn into the paisley-patterned French lace. ‘This would have taken months to hand sew. I wonder who wore this dress and what’s it doing here?’
I never once thought about offloading my wedding dress. I'm not one of those people who try on their special gown every year and cry at their reflection as the neckline strands somewhere along the waist. Only once have did I slip into my dress after the fact, it was the following year, on the anniversary of the big day. That was twenty-five years ago. No, my wedding dress is packed neatly in a cream-coloured box wrapped in the special rice paper the wedding dress store gives so the material doesn't yellow with age. It's sealed and stored away. Maybe a future granddaughter may want to wear it. Or maybe not.
Momentarily I was lost in a sea of stories, the jilted bride standing in a rose-covered pergola, the woman who thought it romantic to wed her first love gone wrong, the woman whose husband jumped off a cliff. Or it was simply a case of economic recovery for the family budget. Maybe there wasn't to be a fancy-dress party where one was asked to wear their wedding dress and have a giggle. Perhaps the sentimental attachment to a dress is not a generalised assumption. After a quick google search, I was surprised to see pages of websites and blog sites dedicated to second-hand wedding dresses and why you should sell yours! Go, Marie Kondo. Whatever the reason, on this Saturday morning, and much to the entertainment of the customers standing around us, we re-enacted possible scenarios behind each of the dresses, one wilder than the other and giggled like a shy virgin bride
#funny #saturdaymorninggettogether #friendslaughing