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Something Borrowed, Something Blue
Written by: Ellen Scolnic
Fond Thoughts from a Sister
 My youngest sister is getting married. That’s why I’m flipping through the end of the rack where the size XXL bridesmaid dresses are hanging. I’m a large-sized person on a good day and these days, I’m eight months pregnant. That just makes the task of finding an appropriate dress all the more daunting. But that’s what happens when you get tapped for the “honor” of trying to act 20 years younger – and be a bridesmaid — again.
Luckily, my sister is a very fashionable, trendy person. She’s the kind of person who not only actually reads Vogue magazine, but she dog-ears the pages that feature things she wants to buy or try. More importantly, she didn’t throw her usual sense of style out the window when it came to choosing bridesmaid dresses.
All the horror shows of eight matching gowns in eight different sizes with layers of pink tulle and deep purple satin embellished with bows on the butt proved equally horrifying to the bride to be. Looking for some common denominator in a varied group of sisters, friends, shapes and sizes, Debbie issued the most practical, flattering edict possible – our choice of any long black dress.
“You’ll be able to wear that again,” has been said about every bridesmaid’s dress since Wilma Flintstone told Betty Rubble that she would get a lot of use out of that off-the-shoulder wooly mammoth sheath. But a black dress has possibilities. A black dress could actually be flattering. So along with all the other plans and preparations, my search for a long, black dress goes on.
My mother’s goal through the entire prenuptial process has been to get as many vital decisions settled as quickly as possible, in good taste, without unnecessary input from the “never-been-on–a-budget-in-her–life” bride. That’s why I was surprised at the list I saw on my parent’s kitchen table. It was a proposed contract from a local caterer outlining the possible wedding menus.
In the stapled packet of seven pages, each page spelled out more and more elegant, extravagant presentations. The first page included basic fare like little hot dogs dipped in mustard. By page four, the Israeli hors d’oeuvres station with hummus and pita was in direct ethnic competition with a Chinese food station of steamed dumplings and egg rolls. Page seven promised a parade of waiters in chef’s hats marching in with flaming hand-carved filets. Next to each item on the list, someone had handwritten “yes” or “no.”
“What’s this list,” I asked my mother. “Is this the food you’re thinking of having? Who wrote ‘yes’ to individually prepared chocolate soufflés?” I asked as I waved the pages in front of her face. I wasn’t exactly jealous; I just wanted to have an idea of the extravaganza we were headed for. “Oh, that’s just Debbie’s checklist,” my mother explained, dismissing the entire scenario with a wave of her hand. “She thinks that anything less that 27 different hors d’oeuvres doesn’t offer guests enough variety.”
On all these wedding topics – dresses, flowers, and food – I have provided an unending source of unwanted, out-of-date advice. I got married almost 15 years ago. My bridesmaids were my younger sisters and sisters-in-law-to-be, who for the most part were still college age. They wore matching light pink gowns that I chose because at the
time – August 1983 – my sisters were blond and tan. The wedding band played their own special version of the Rolling Stones Start Me Up – a song I specifically asked them not to play because it was not originally written for a five-piece dance band.
I don’t know why my dated advice and experiences should count for anything, but a wedding is a momentous occasion so I feel compelled to keep offering my views. Of course, to my sister, my point of view is that of an old married lady. As the oldest child in our family, I always saw myself as Marcia Brady. Now I’m much more like Florence Henderson.
Every time my sister fills me in on another detail that is her obsession du jour, whether it will be mixed spring flowers in the bouquets or just roses, pastel mints or hand-dipped chocolates – I want to tell her that her wedding will be fabulous no matter what type of flowers or candy she chooses. No one will remember the mints, least of all her. What she will remember is that their wedding day is the start of a new life together. Their wedding will be an amazing, exciting emotional day that signals a new beginning. It’s a big decision, a grown-up commitment. But maybe that’s too scary to focus on when you’re the bride. That’s why she’s concentrating on the mints.
In keeping with her usual sense of style, the wedding dress my sister chose was nothing short of spectacular. Debbie has spent the months since she got engaged carefully studying the pages of every bridal magazine in the world. She clipped photos of gowns from the pages of local and national bridal magazines and then she went international to Elle Esposa and Il Marriage. She cross-filed photos from Young Bride with clips from Not-So-Young-Anymore Bride. Then, appropriately armed with hanging file folders of possibilities, she marched into a local bridal salon to test the waters.
Maybe it was my mother and I trailing along in her wake that gave us away as experienced, done-three-weddings-before customers. But the saleswoman at the bridal store sized us up and then pulled out her big guns – the designer guns. The collection pictured in the clippings clutched in my sister’s French manicured hand.
For Debbie, a blond, tanned, size 4, trying on the sample gowns was a flattering, fairy tale experience. The first thing the saleswoman did was to sweep Debbie’s hair up in a loose French knot and fasten a double strand fake pearl chocker around her neck. This immediately made everything look more glamorous. Then she brought out various headpieces and veils, each more beautiful and bridal than the next. This combination made every low-cut, off-the-shoulder gown look spectacular on Debbie. The worn beige carpet and dusty crystal chandelier of the bridal store faded into the background as Debbie stood on a platform in front of a ten-foot tall, three way mirror. She looked like a fairy princess, more beautiful than any magazine clipping.
For my mother and I, the sight of Debbie in a wedding gown conjured up a jumble of feelings. Watching my youngest sister model a cream-colored satin wedding dress was a much more emotional experience than I had expected. I had expected my mom to cry – and she did right after she gave the saleswoman a “thumbs up.” But I didn’t expect to be moved myself, just by seeing my little sister swathed in satin. This is the sister who used to wear braces, who painted the names of favorite rock groups on her bedroom wall and until very recently, had devoted an entire wire cart of six full shelves to her nail polish and cosmetics collection. How could she suddenly look like a different person just by trying on a dress? Debbie suddenly looked like Cinderella on the way to the ball. Maybe that’s why she is so caught up in the planning of her wedding. It’s exciting to be part of a fantasy.
I have wonderful memories of my own wedding. When I look at the pictures –after I get over how young everyone looked and how much more hair my dad had - my memories of the day come back to me. At the time, my wedding was elegant, special, romantic and exciting. It was everything I dreamed it would be. And it was mine. That’s why I’m hoping my sister plans a day that is just as special for her and her groom.
No matter what they end up choosing after it's all over, it’s not the hors d’oeuvres or the music we’ll remember, but the start of their married life together. And I hope she ends up with as many wonderful memories of her wedding day – and as happy a marriage afterwards – as I have of mine. After all, happiness is walking through the journey of life, hand-in-hand with your best friend.
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