The Quest for the Dress

We finished addressing the invites and they should be sent out in the next few days. If you don’t receive one and feel that you should have blame my masculinity and please come anyway. I am overworked and weddinged out and I just want to get married. If Corryn would let me elope to the temple I would do it now.

We took bridals yesterday. I had to run around to a few different locations lugging all kinds of props while trying to paste on a genuine smile while Steve cursed at the camera and Tonya gave constant directions. It was worth it though, the bride to be looked pretty darn good in the dress. The following is a firsthand account of the fateful day written in the grooms own words.

The Quest for the Dress

After remaining trapped in the action figure dungeon for about an hour and half whilst loud noises of preparation and merriment issued from the upstairs I was finally allowed to emerge and breath the fresh air of freedom. I walked out the front door to find the last golden rays, in requiem for the dying sun, had splashed themselves on to her freshly curled tresses, leaving them wet and shining like molten happiness.* The celestial beadwork meticulously woven into the body of the dress reflected a world undeserving of such beauty.

The boiling pot of emotions in my gut overflowed at this catalytic sight. I simultaneously felt elated and wholly inadequate. Overjoyed that such a girl would allow me to accompany her through this contemptible existence and acutely aware of the stains this life had burned into my woeful soul. In that moment I confess I wished for the cloths of heaven* rather than the simple black suit and purple tie that was currently hiding my nakedness.

The dress was an ivory cage. A haven for the hot body (can I say that?)and guileless soul it housed. Her skin was the color of sweet cream. Her eyes we green like the sea.

The hair I already talked about…

the shoes…

were hot pink.

*(Special shout out to Serina and Talisa, Co-prop masters and honorary hair curlers/bride beautifiers)

*He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven

Had I the heaven’s embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,

I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

William Butler Yeats

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