There is zero shame in my game.
While holy matrimony has never been high on my list of hopeful accomplishments (although I can train the fuck out of a man. Ex-boyfriends that were once couch potatoes, allergic to family encounters, bitched about having to go to out-of-town weddings, were closeted alcoholics, verbally abusive – all matters leading to break ups are now treating ladies right. Now I get to sit back and watch my masterpieces practice my long, hard efforts in their current love lives. Bitter much…who moi? You’re welcome girls).
Whipping male asses into shape for fellow females.
Often classifying myself as trashtacular, it will come as no surprise that when I was driving by one of the many dumpsters near my mini manse, my interest was beyond piqued when I spied a gigantic white box big enough to store body parts beside the filthy green trash receptacle.
I did what any classy person would do…I slammed on the brakes, leapt out of my rust bucket, just knowing that the headless corpse I was about to discover would land me on my fave TV show, Forensic Files without having to be deceased.
Instead, as I slowly opened the box, an even bigger surprise awaited my eyeballs.
A fucking wedding gown. Preserved to perfection.
Was this a sign? An omen? Bad juju (I mean Jesus, is there any luck in finding a wedding dress dumpster diving? I mean, aside from it being free and all). I suddenly became a woman more excited about a wedding dress than finding a stray pussy that needs a home (JUST KIDDING. I would first home the cat and then set my sights on my pretend wedding).
This dress had been abandoned once before. Who was I to do it again? The chiffon pouf found a home in the back of my rust bucket, along with a Christmas tree and anything else I don’t have room for in the mini manse. It resided there until one evening at a gathering of gals for Supper Club. Among the convo, I mentioned my dumpster diving prowess skills and with zero urging, ran out to my car and got the box.
The shenanigans began.
Upon opening the box, we not only discovered there was the dress but also the veil AND THE SHOES – which revealed the previous owner’s practicality, as they were ballet flats. Ew.
My new favorite bad hair day ‘do.
Suddenly, I became a flushed bride trying to stuff myself into polyester chiffon (I mean, I didn’t go on a wedding dress diet because I didn’t know I would be so fortunate to be all dressed up…with no altar to go).
I haven’t tried to stuff myself into anything chiffon since, well, ever. I mean, naturally my prom dresses were sequins and any bridesmaid dress that I will “totally wear again” (and never, ever have) were more on the silk/satin side of the material world.
With a touch of fake tulips off my gal pal’s mantel, I was a (literally) hot bride – one lit cigarette butt from going up in flames.
While half of the group was trying to get me in and out of the dress, the other ladies were playing private detectives. We had a name from the alteration receipt, which was from a dress shop in Hoover, AL. WHAT WAS THE STORY BEHIND THIS DRESS?
I mean, if it was cheating, wouldn’t one burn the dress? A nasty divorce, even, maybe donate the dress? But to leave it unscathed at the dumpster really proved that this former bride had a sliver of regard for the giddy-up that once promised her forever, which may now be my forever. But whatever.
With the small paper trail and armed with her maiden name, our investigators were able to peruse social media, locate her, see second wedding photos (with a far more updated gown) and we all now know she lives three buildings down from me. Maybe we should all quit our jobs and become private detectives?
Lost but found.
OR maybe I will just quit my day job, go down to Broadway Street in Nashville in my new threads and pretend I got left at the altar for sympathy and free Skinny Pirates.
OR better yet, I can be the runaway bride and charge tourists (who pay for any and everything) $5 for a picture with this damsel in distress.
OR do I plan a wedding to myself for myself and register for all the things like Louis Vuitton bags, Christian Louboutin heels, a Go Fund Me account for vet bills, and a collection for a new car (i.e. Range Rover)?
OR do I wear this on every second date I go on?
While I have yet to ever online date, this for sure will be a profile picture if I ever do. Accompanied with one single tag line:
Must love cats.
I betcha they’ll be lining up to say, “I don’t,” even if I’m not looking for anything but casual.
Regardless, I can’t stop wearing the fucking veil.
Don’t mind me. Just a crazy lady parading around in a stranger’s veil.
Here comes the bride…to the nearest dumpster near you.