I got married in May 1988, 28 years ago. This year, in May 2016, I dug out my wedding dress and did a bit of dress-deja-vu.
The dress was made by my friend Ruth. She was living in Cape Town at the time, and I was living in Joburg. She offered to make the dress as a wedding present, which I was thrilled about (she’s a very talented seamstress), and my Dad forked out for the beautiful heavy satin fabric and the chiffon. So about a month before the wedding, I flew down to Cape Town on what was supposed to be a fitting-and-sewing weekend, but Ruth and I were beeeeg jollers, so instead we spent the whole time drinking tequila, going out to eat and dance, sleeping late, and talking our heads off. On the Sunday, with about 10 minutes to go before we had to race off to the airport so I could catch my flight back to Joburg (when you’re young, you do everything, including catching planes, by the skin of your teeth), we suddenly clocked that we hadn’t done a single thing about the wedding dress. Scratching around, Ruth unearthed a long piece of tatty Christmas tinsel. This she used to measure me – height, bust, waist, hips, etc – tying knots in the tinsel to denote each measurement.
About three weeks later, with days to go before the wedding, my mother-in-law-to-be almost had heart failure when she discovered that not only did I not have the vaguest clue what my wedding dress would look like, I wouldn’t get to even try it on until the night before the wedding, when Ruth and a bunch of other Cape Town friends were due to arrive for the nuptial celebrations. My mother-in-law-to-be dragged me off to Sandton City, where she insisted we must buy a wedding dress for me. She was a difficult woman to resist (that’s putting it mildly), so I trailed after her from boutique to boutique, trying on a series of enormous and enormously expensive wedding dresses. My repeated refrains that I didn’t need a wedding dress – that I already had one, even if I didn’t actually have it with me physically at that very moment – fell on deaf and increasingly irritated ears. “But she’s only bringing it the day before – what if it doesn’t fit?” she said. “It will fit, don’t worry,” I told her. “But what if you don’t like it?” she asked. “I’ll like it, don’t worry,” I said.
I really wasn’t worried at all – I knew I’d love it because I was 100 percent confident that Ruth knew me well enough to make something I’d love; and I had not the slightest concern that it wouldn’t fit me – Ruth may have measured me with a piece of Christmas tinsel, but I knew she’d get it right.
And she did!
Above: left in May 1988; right in May 2016 (it strikes me that perhaps I should have ironed the dress before doing the deja-vu!). Even though the marriage only lasted 7 years, I knew I’d never get married again, and I still wear my original wedding ring (albeit on my right hand) – it’s visible in both pictures.
Above: Left in 1988 (cigarette in hand!); right in 2016.
Above: Left in May 1988 (with my darling dog Bella); right in May 2016 (with my darling granddaughter Jessie). That round bracelet is a silver spoon that my father hammered into a piece of jewellery for me.