Memories for sale

I suppose I’m not an especially sentimental person—or maybe I am, but not in the typical way.

I’m selling my wedding dress on poshmark. It’s not a big poofy cake of a dress. It’s a stretchy little tube with a mermaid hemline that was perfect for me to get Maui’ed in. Our wedding was so oddly spur-of-the-moment. We had been engaged for more than two years by the time we planned our trip to Hawaii, so when, a month before we were scheduled to leave, it occurred to us that we could just call it an elopement trip and kill two birds with one stone, we thought we were brilliant.

Our families didn’t think we were quite so brilliant; we invited them along, but they couldn’t exactly drop everything and hop a plane to Maui with a month’s notice. My oldest brother, Seth, still hasn’t quite forgiven me, and it’s been nine years.

Our pictures were beautiful. Our photographer, Amity Mason, made the day look magical. Well, it pretty much was magical, but she certainly captured the feel of it. I’m using a couple of her photos in the listing on poshmark to sell the dress.

But why sell it? Well, I say, why not sell it? It’s been in a plastic bag in my nightstand since October of 2008. I’m certainly not going to wear it again. I don’t plan to have a daughter to pass it down to. Why not sell it and let someone else enjoy it? I have the memories. I have the pictures. And I have the shoes.

I’m keeping the shoes, after all. They sit on one of our bookcases of memories in the living room, near the shelf that holds my grandmother’s wedding shoes.

I’m reasonably sentimental, after all. Just not about clothes. (My younger brother Garth will tell you about my policy of getting rid of an item of clothing after I’ve been photographed in it, but that may be another post altogether.)

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