I have this one lasting memory from when I was a little girl. One I am sure I share with many. It’s something most women fantasise about until the exact moment it becomes true. That is, if it ever does come true. Dress me in all white any day of the week. It’s pure. It’s powerful. Until it’s not. Call me contemporary, call me a feminist, call me whatever the hell you want. Just don’t dress me in white and walk me down that god dam isle.

I blame my parents. They never sealed the deal. And ironically, here I am writing a piece on the ‘anti, anti-bride’, secretly hoping that maybe, one day, someone will love me enough to want to put a ring on me. I hate that term; ‘put a ring on it’. Reminds me of being a teenager and the boys at school would shout it from across the playground if someone of the opposite sex even dared to something remotely kind.

I am painting myself in a terrible picture right now. The truth is: I love, love. In fact I am loves biggest advocate. I just don’t support taking out a mortgage or spending your kids college fund, even worst your entire life savings over one day and a couple of lasting memories (if all goes well that is…). 

I’m not anti tradition and it’s not that I don’t believe that a marriage is not equal. Crucify me for having an opinion that the whole father handing over daughter to husband ritual is somewhat  sexist. Right? Is it just me? I get the significance behind it yes, but sorry dad I am not yours to hand over. Nor, does marriage mean I am someones to have. I belong to no-one but myself.

I guess maybe conformity isn’t necessarily my thing. It wasn’t exactly how I was raised. I do dream of an over-exaggerated dress with my nearest and dearest throwing petals over my head as I strut past them. I mean, that can be done on any occasion really. I love the idea of having those who matter most around me, celebrating love in whatever shape or form it presents itself. I cherish the notion of vowels. A set of words written from the bottom of your heart. A bound promise too love and always love. But in an ideal world of love, these words should be spoken to me over a cup of coffee, upon every waking moment and a goodbye kiss. Not in front of a tear ridden crowed who’s emotions are burdened by the French champagne they drunk at reception.

Maybe I am just in denial.