Twenty-five years ago in this bathroom.
Right there on this floor with hot rollers sprayed with an entire can of Aqua Net hairspray and bright red lipstick and liquid black eyeliner and yards and yards and yards of beaded satin with a monogrammed train swirling around in giant poufs….
….my bathroom and I took our last stand.
My lipstick smeared and my eyeliner smudged as defiant tears ran down my face.
It wasn’t pretty.
It wasn’t cute.
It wasn’t even close to a Hallmark movie.
But in that moment I wasn’t budging.
The heels of my pearl-encrusted, recently dyed to perfection off-white pumps were digging in.
And not going anywhere.
We were supposed to be leaving for church. My mother was rushing around with the veil and a cake server, telling me how late we were going to be and asking why in the world was I wearing such red lipstick.
And all the while she was talking and fluttering about, I stood here in front of this mirror, in this bathroom, on this floor.
Thinking about Dear Abby.
I mean, isn’t that what every bride thinks about on her wedding day?
They would if they read the whole column Dear Abby wrote on being extra careful when you get married because your wedding date and time are published for the world to see in the newspaper and all sorts of unsavory characters could break into your house while you are gone and take 23 place settings of your elegant new china and fancy silver and even the occasional toaster oven.
Can you even imagine?
I loved my new toaster oven…..
….and Dear Abby had me all tied up in knots about it.
Panicked, I rushed from the bathroom and immediately told my mother that we needed to put our dog in the house. We needed a watchdog during the wedding. I explained I would feel so much better. I would enjoy the wedding so much more if I knew that the dog was protecting the china and the silver and the toaster oven.
My mother said no.
Obviously she had never read Dear Abby.
Obviously, she didn’t understand the importance of the situation.
I pled and begged and let a stray tear slip from my eye and stomped my pearl encrusted newly dyed satin heels.
To no avail.
My mother informed me in a very stern voice and in no uncertain terms that the dog would be staying outside.
Even as I type this.
Even as I cringe a little thinking about it.
Even after all these years, I’m not really sure what came over me.
I’m still not sure in my Dear Abby induced state that I thought I was choosing wisely. That what happened next was the best course of action on any universe.
But whatever the reason, whatever the consequences, I took my monogrammed train and Aqua Net hot rollers and lay down on the floor, hot rollers and all and refused to budge.
Right then and there, with the cold tile pressed against my face, I took my last stand.
My mother wrung her hands and shook her head and sighed and eventually gave in.
We were 20 minutes late to the church.
It was not my finest hour.
I learned something about myself that day.
I learned that my mother was a saint.
I learned that worrying about a toaster oven can make you 20 minutes late for your own wedding.
And I learned that when it comes to brides and weddings never, ever, ever….
….should Dear Abby be required reading. 🙂
PS These are the pictures of the newly remodeled bathroom with my grandmother’s chandelier and a new shower.
The story was free of charge. 🙂
PPS Don’t worry. I’m getting a bathroom rug. The tile is just as cold as I remembered. 🙂
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