Personal Narrative: A Humorous Wedding

Every fairy story I read as a child told me tales of princesses brimming with the saccharine ecstasy of falling in love. On stormy nights, when dagger shaped leaves plastered themselves onto the rain speckled windows, I would trace my fingertips over pictures bursting with the colours of a happily ever after. Mother would smile wanly, and softly whisper her own tales of her wedding day with papa. No one told me such an ending did not exist for me. No one told me love was a myth, a silly tale written and woven for unworldly fools like me! I could stamp my feet and wail with cold fury, but I am no longer a child. No. I am a woman lined by time; my skin worn with disappointment, eyes glassy with hate, my heart a bundle of kindling that will never

I wanted to lie under the scorching sun with him, idly talking about nothing and everything, while he traced the pale slope of my slender shoulders. But soon winter melted into spring and Cynthia my maid was helping me get ready. I didn’t want her there that morning but the ivory wedding dress was a flouncy affair, the skirt teeming with many layers. It took forever to put the dress on. I begged Cynthia to keep tugging at the lace of my steely corset. I was determined to achieve that fourteen inches waistline which was exceedingly smaller than my natural shape; all for him. Beneath lay my French camisole, brushing like silk against my body; it served as a shield between my dress and my delicate skin. A simple petticoat covered the crinoline to help achieve a smooth finish against my form. I remember screaming with girlish glee as I peered into the mirror. The white organdy, tulle dress clung to my hourglass figure; petite flowers carefully scattered the border of my dress, the neckline was a striking floral lace mesh design, the veil, fine gauze which had been decorated with a wreath of soft pink blossoms. The ruffles draped along the floor as I walked towards the door. The dress was beautiful; I was