AUNTIE, THE BOOBS LOOK GREAT!
After hours and hours of scrolling through bridal websites, I slumped in my desk chair, my body shaking with dejection. I was 64 years old, and after 20 years as a divorcée, about to finally marry the love of my life, and I could not find a dress.
My engagement had been a dream. My silver knight in shining armor—imagine an older Robert Downey, Jr.—down on one knee, saying, “Will you…” and me not even giving him a chance to finish before screaming: “YES!”
We easily settled on the date: August 31st, the day that both my parents and maternal grandparents were married. We wanted a small but elegant party in our favorite place, Morro Bay, on the California Central Coast. My son would get ordained by the Universal Life Church and officiate, and his wonderful wife would be my matron of honor.
My elation quickly evaporated. It had been 30 years since I’d planned a wedding. Just looking at the lengthy “to-do” checklists and the “must-haves” left me sweaty and anxious. It was no longer enough to find a venue, invite the guests, choose a menu, flowers, and cake, and hire a DJ. Now, the minimum also included sending “save the date” notices, designing a website, booking hotel rooms, planning a rehearsal dinner, buying bridal party gifts and wedding favors, and so much more. It was enough to enervate any bride-to-be, especially one in the autumn of her years.
But I was determined. So I scooped up the latest issues of California Wedding Day and California Bride, registered at The Knot and WeddingWire websites, and rolled up my wedding-bell sleeves. Eventually, I found the ideal venue (a restaurant on the water in Morro Bay) and hired a florist, baker, and an events team (a photographer, videographer, DJ/MC, and day-of coordinator). It was all coming together beautifully. Until my focus turned to the ultimate quest for any bride: finding a dress. Not just any dress. THE DRESS. And this was where it all fell apart.
And it should have been easy. After all, I had just lost 33 pounds, and I felt terrific. But as I scoured magazines and websites, I quickly learned that finding a dress was going to be a bigger challenge than I expected. I was no longer a blushing, young, firm bride (truth be told, I was never that firm), so wearing white and going sleeveless or strapless was out of the question. My upper arms looked more like wings, and rather than leaving them loose to flap in the breeze, I needed to rein them in.
The day of my collapse in front of the computer, I had already visited the two largest bridal stores in Santa Clarita and both had the same selection: bridal gowns that were over-the-top full-length white productions with yards and yards of tulle, or slinky curve-hugging dresses akin to the lingerie I was going to unveil for my silver knight on our honeymoon. The salespeople, who were always so sweet and congratulatory once I explained I was not the mom of the bride, but was the one getting married, still steered me toward dresses loaded with sequins and beadwork, the kind that screamed “mature woman of a certain age.” But I wanted to look magnificent, not matronly. I wanted what a bride of any age wanted: a dress that made me feel sexy and desirable.
Online, I was bewildered by even more options: tea-length, lacy dresses in shades of ivory, mauve, and rose. Lovely. Except on me. Those styles just weren’t meant for my 64-year-old body. Now the genuine panic set in, and my mind raced with pessimism. What if I never found THE DRESS?
And then a delightful memory suddenly came to the rescue: the local dressmaker who had made my wedding dress 30 years ago. She was still in business. Could she work her magic again?
When I went for my appointment, laughter from our shared history set me at ease immediately. I told her what I was looking for, and she pulled out several evening dresses. She insisted I try on a navy-blue number with a lightly sequined lace bodice and see-through three-quarter length sleeves made of netting and highlighted with sequins. It had a flowing skirt that could easily be shortened. After she wrestled me into a bustier, I stepped into the dress, and when I looked in the mirror, it took my breath away. Through tears, I knew I had finally found THE DRESS. The catalog revealed that it also came in the perfect color: a gold sequined lace bodice with an almost ethereal rose gold skirt. Done!
A few weeks later, at my first fitting, I took a selfie and sent it to my bridal party: my daughter-in-law (matron of honor), my youngest niece (bridesmaid), and my eldest niece (my fiancé’s best person), all of whom were going to wear shades of blue that would look gorgeous matched with my gold dress. My eldest niece, never one to hold back, responded immediately: “Auntie, the boobs look great!” That settled it! I knew I’d made the right choices in both the dress and the wedding party.
After that, everything else fell into place. I found an exquisite headband with pearls and crystals that made me feel like a princess, and a pair of sparkly wedge sandals comfortable enough to dance the night away. I wore my mother’s pearls and earrings that my grandmother had given me when I graduated high school. Three generations were represented on that magical evening.
As I walked up the aisle, I saw the love in my silver knight’s eyes. He took my hand, leaned in and whispered, “You’re breathtaking. Can I kiss you now?”
Later, as the sun set along the California coast, my new husband and I shared a kiss and toasted each other with glasses of champagne and a promise of forever, while my beautiful dress sparkled in the last rays of the day.
Laurie Miller recently retired after 30 years as a grant writer, raising funds for foster care advocacy, the arts, and college access. Her work appeared in Vestal Review and Purrseverance: Inspiring Stories of Cat Resilience and Hope. Laurie lives in California with her husband and senior pets Ruby and Snickers.