I have always admired beautiful dresses. It’s an aesthetic that has always been part of me. Today, I enjoy watching Say Yes to the Dress, not for the awwwwww moments when the woman talks about her fiance as the love of her life or her best friend, or the OMG moments of conflict with the entourage. I just like looking at the dresses, and often fast forward through the other stuff in the show.

 

But like I say, this has been a life-long fascination. Do you remember the Modess brand of feminine hygiene products? Back in the 50s, Modess packaging featured a photo of a woman in an impossibly elaborate and elegant evening gown, the kind that wedding dress fashionistas now call princess or ball gowns, with huge skirts. I had no idea what product was contained within the packaging, I just wanted a picture of that gorgeous dress. Much to the mortification of my grandmother who hurried me out of that grocery aisle when I loudly asked her to buy a box for me. Talk about misunderstood. And it went both ways.

 

This is all to set up my perspective for why I ran away from home.

 

I was about 4 years old and lived with my mother and baby brother. My grandma and grandpa lived not too far away.

 

Mom had gotten some clothes back from the dry cleaner, on hangers and covered with a long plastic bag. The bag was a clear, pale blue. A lovely shade of light blue.

 

I had a great imagination, a sense of the theatric that I could enhance with the best props. With the color and length of the bag, I thought it would make a beautiful veil for my make believe wedding dress.

 

My mother disagreed.

 

So I packed a bag and took off for my grandma’s house. Alone. On foot.

 

A friend of grandma’s saw me trudging along the sidewalk with my little suitcase and offered me a ride. Good thing, too, as I had no idea how to get there. I explained to her that I was moving to Grandma’s and because I had packed my Easter dress, I was planning to stay at least that long.

 

Grandma explained that she wouldn’t let me use a dry cleaning bag over my head, either. She called my mom, who came to get me. The incident was never mentioned again.