The frilly dresses of yesterday have stood their ground. It’s 2012, and you may very well see cleavage and booty at the beach, but a wedding dress is still a formal to-do. The sex-appeal factor gets muted in favor of princess-y sophistication. It makes me wonder about me.
I’ve never been one for tradition. Being in a wedding has forced me to reevaluate my stance on certain things. Maybe I do want to get married. Maybe I do want a ring. Maybe I want a cake that spans mountains. I’m not sure.
What I’m also unsure of is the dress. If I were to get married, would I pick a classy frock, studded with rhinestones and beads? Or would I choose from an assortment of slinky bridal lingerie gowns? I’ve always like the idea of being a little different in my wedding, stirring things up a touch. A black dress? Maybe red? How about multi-colored? Would I want to stick with a clean white, or a suggestive ivory?
The truth is, I can’t see the future. I may never get married. I may never walk down the aisle, wear a heavy rock on my finger, or toss a bouquet. But one thing I’m pretty certain of? I won’t change my last name.