I’m looking for a wedding dress. I’m sixty-two years old and shopping with my adult daughter. As I come out of the dressing room wearing a loose, ankle length number she raises her eyebrow.
“Mom, it looks like a hospital gown,” she says. She’s an RN. I look at my reflection in the mirror. She is not wrong.
My search for a wedding dress seems emblematic of the cultural peculiarity of being a woman marrying late in life, as if I am searching through a sales rack of tropes and cliches, sexy bride, mature bride, ball and chain, lottery winner.
LIsten for more.
