to all the dresses I didn’t pick

What happens to the wedding dresses you don’t pick? They stay on your phone, growing weeds around them, gathering dust, until one day, you’re fat from eating too many of your toddler’s chicken nuggets and you just ate mustard out of your own hair and the second one is using your gut as a pillow, and you can’t remember if it’s Wednesday or tomorrow, and you long for autonomy, to go anywhere really, maybe back to Iceland or just to CVS, and you check your phone to log Her poopy diaper and enroll Him in summer school and THERE THEY ARE, reminding you that you once looked like that, not that you Knew it at the time, and you probably won’t again, but at least you did! And no one can take that from you. And bigger things matter now, and really, you’ve spent too much of your life trying on dresses, pants, and now it doesn’t matter what you wear, and isn’t that liberating? You are probably as powerful as you’ve ever been, even though it’s fact that going forward your brain will only atrophy and chances are, you won’t learn new things. White is an impractical color, it shows all of the almond butter. Your husband thinks you’re prettiest when you’re tired, and he liked you on that Day, but he also likes you when you’re trying to remember why you came into the kitchen, after a very long day, regardless of what color you’re wearing.

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