When she entered, everyone couldn’t help but stare in obvious disbelief.
The wedding dress looked like it had come straight off the rack from a bad thrift store. It was beyond retro-chic. It wasn’t even rachet. It was downright fugly. It was made from all synthetics.
The bride and groom, together with two friends, are deliberately sat at a small private table. In the back. So fewer people have to look at the cheap-ass disaster of a gown.
And we all felt some pity at that point.
She couldn’t afford her dream day.
And even if she could, what would be the point ?
She doesn’t have taste.
At the end of their meal, I diligently do my duty and walk over.
All I offer is a simple catalogued phrase:
“Congratulations and thank you for sharing this special moment with us tonight. Is there a special song I can play for you to end your evening?”
The glow on her face is radiant.
“Do you know To Make You Feel My Love? We got married 21 years ago and on our anniversary I put on my wedding dress, then we go out to dinner. I know it’s silly but I would love to hear our first dance song.”
It is now my absolute privilege to play this simple tune for her.
She’s not poor at all.
She’s blessedly rich.
Because her true love gave to her not just a partridge in a pear tree, not just 21 years of companionship, not even 5 golden rings, but a fidelity so strong it makes a pretty lady want to tell the world about it by wearing the ugliest dress in public once a year.
And the thing was still a perfect fit.