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Aging Confessions

Ok, let's admit one dastardly deed we did but never, heretofore, told anyone about. Here goes mine . . .

I had to think awhile and then it came to me with an avalanche of shame: I was at a very fancy home alone. It was at my future in-laws’ where they had planted their garden with pink and white petunias for a friend-of the-family’s upcoming wedding. Mine was to come later but never did materialize, possibly owing to the bad karma I created there.

Anyhow, her gown was hanging on the back of the master bedroom door and I simply had to try it on, to picture myself in a swarm of satin and lace, a princess awaiting her white knight. Oh, the cake would be chocolate with raspberry filling and virgin icing. The harp woman would strum heaven-sent harmony and all the guests would get giggly on champagne.

But I digress . . .

I was slim in those days, but I guess not emaciated because I was really tugging and pulling this dream dress over my hips. “Dang!” I replied. “This girl needs bulimics anonymous”

More tugging and swearing and “r-r-r-r-r-rip!”


Sweating, with trembling fingers, I surveyed the damage and ascertained there was no way to fix it. I rationalized, as minds are wont to do, that a few inches of dragging hemline could easily have happened when the real bride tried it on. Hell, she’d probably get it all grass stained and for sure she’d only wear it once.

So I did one of the most shameful things I’ve ever done in my life: I simply put it back on the hanger and made it out the door faster than fat on fire.

I know you’re judging me now but, c’mon; you must have done something terrible once and never told, right? OK, maybe not terrible but perhaps unsavory? Unbecoming? Ludicrous?

I’m just serving as the guinea pig here to get you thinking about making amends. It can be most freeing and is the right thing to do as we move ever closer to our dirt naps.

As for my apology, I have no idea what the girl’s name was; and at this point, I think an amends would hurt her and especially me.

However, if you are reading this now Ms. Bride, I do have a spare gown from my wedding-that-never-materialized and I’ll gladly loan it to you . . . or your daughter . . . or your great granddaughter . . .


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