Wrapped in lavender, I was regal. I was Holy. Set aside. More important, in spite of my looming Thanksgiving nuptials, I was at present available…But I was wearing gloves. Gloves that would cover up my ring finger and conceal my availability. What better way to envision a bride than to see her walking down the aisle looking brideish ? The gloves had just become public enemy number one; the only thing standing between matrimony and me. The gloves had become like the Grand Canyon, or the Great Wall of China…symbols of unreachable distance and impenetrable divide. But removing the gloves would ruin the look, the ambience, and the picture that my mother had so perfectly painted. Removing the gloves would be a direct sign to my mother and all in attendance that what was most important to me was my own selfish individual wants, needs, and desires. A sign of just how low I was willing to go to attract a husband. Removing the gloves meant shredding one of the few remaining strands of dignity I had left.

With my head held high, and my shoulders squarely facing the altar, I removed the gloves. And in a moment of shameless liberation, the angels sang, and a bright light covered my face as I heard the voice of God saying, “This is my beloved daughter, in whom I am well pleased.”

Newly confident, with the grace of a she-tiger, I began my walk. As all eyes locked onto my glow, I walked. Like the Queen of England, I waved my ringless hand to my awed subjects and I walked. I waved and I, I—uh oh…I stopped. My dress was snagged.

Standing in the middle of the aisle, mid-promenade, I realized my dress was snagged. With hands waving, smile widened, face glowing, I was snagged. Snagged on a stray nail hanging from the side of a pew. Yes, the devil was busy. And as the music played and the single men gazed, I had to make a quick decision. Either reach back, bend over, and unsnag my dress, which would completely ruin the atmosphere I had so skillfully created, or continue walking and risk ripping the dress to shreds, which would again, completely ruin the atmosphere I had so skillfully created.

I paused. The music paused. Gaining a moment of clarity, I continued walking. And as I walked the dress snagged. It tugged and pulled and—Screeeech!It ripped. Still I continued walking and the dress continued ripping. And as the music played and the single men gazed, my long flowing dress had become a short flowing skirt. What had the potential of being my lifetime’s most embarrassing moment turned into a loud outbreak of claps, whistles, and cheers as my gloveless, ringless hand and my seemingly velcroed gown-turnedminiskirt appeared to be a skillfully crafted stunt to add spice to an otherwise ordinary wedding.