It was a cold day in early December when my mom and I entered our first bridal boutique. A woman greeted us wearing six inch heels, tight black trousers and a silver slinky blouse. She led us around the quiet store that was lined with gowns glittering in the afternoon light. Soon I found myself undressing next to this high-heeled woman and then climbing into a gown whose price tag had a lot of numbers on it. Stepping out of the dressing room, my mother smiled and I stared curiously at myself in the mirror thinking about the idea of summer. It wasn't even Christmas yet and I was trying on dresses that'd I'd need to wear six months later. Dresses, plural, that would become dress, singular, that I'd wear for just one day.
Walking down the street afterwards we discussed the pros and
cons of the various styles, the outfit of the sales woman (those heels! and she
was already tall!) the beads, the silk, the lace. I mentioned the idea of
finding a cup of coffee. What if I made
your dress? My mom said.
