Over the weekend I was looking for my Syracuse sweatshirt that I got from "Santa" that one year that my husband had to spend the week before Christmas in Rochester, because it has been cold lately, and I hate being cold. Mostly I've been wearing this gigantic housecoat that is big enough to wrap around myself twice and was also a Christmas gift from a different year, because I never did find that stinkin' hoodie, but what I found instead was my veil from my wedding.
My husband says he doesn't even remember my veil. I do, but I can't remember whether I wore the blusher over my face or not. I think I did. Most of the pre-"I Do" portion of the ceremony is a blur, except for the part where my Dad stepped on the hem of my dress at the top of the stairs and I tripped and said, right out loud in a Catholic church in front of God and the Monsignor and my grandmothers and everybody, "OH SHIT." And then I freaked out because, oh shit, I just said "SHIT" in church!
Yeah, I have issues. You'd have issues too, if your grandmother was born in the manger next to Jesus. But anyway, I found my veil, which I didn't even know was missing. I figured all this time that my veil was in the bag with my weddirng dress at my mother's somewhere, and not in the top of one of the office closets in a shoebox with my pocelain Tin Man from the Wizard of Oz collector's doll.
G didn't even want me to show it to Shae, because he was afraid she'd wreck it. Personally, I don't care much. My veil was pretty much an afterthought anyway, something I grabbed at the florist's at the last minute because I wasn't sure what I was going to do with my hair. It was $12. The florist made it. I can't even really deal with it right now, because my kid is only three and I am not yet prepared to deal with how beautiful a bride she is going to be. In thirty years or so. When I am ready to let her grow up.