When I first got married, I told my husband that nothing seemed more romantic to me than receiving a dress, wrapped luxuriously in a white box and tied with a large satin ribbon. I had seen this very scene in “I Love Lucy” a hundred times, noting the lovely token while holed up in my parents bed sick with a fever. Nothing seemed more comforting, feminine, romantic. My poor husband tried to replicate this desire 3 times before he gave up--the dresses never fit, and there’s nothing like a too small dress to pop a fantasy.
But, that dress represented everything to me. And thinking about it still, there is nothing I wouldn’t give for a picture of that ill-fitting dress that represented my husband’s indulgence. That silly dress wasn’t just a “thing” to me--it meant comfort, femininity, love. It meant me feeling safe, wrapped up in my parents’ yellow flowered sheets. It meant a husband who listened and cared.