Tag Archives: weddingstories

The Road Less Taken?

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I didn’t ask for this.  This life.  I just thought I’d get up everyday and be normal, that I’d fit in.
I noticed a change in early middle school, not much, but mostly from the men, I’d get called on for questions, or I’d get noticed first when I lifted my hand to answer a question.
I never had trouble with grades, but I found that the grades started to find me quicker even though I wasn’t needing to work so hard for them.
I’ve never had the perfect responses to questions, I’ve never been on the ‘A’ list for whose the smartest in the class, but I’m certainly not dumb. I’m not someone to be trifled with in an argument. “Frankie will fight to the death” my best friend Sophie once said.
However, it seems over time that certain people started responded differently to some of my answers, but take other answers not as seriously.  “That theorem wasn’t your strongest Frankie”, or “historically speaking, I think Dan had a stronger argument about the chemicals involved.” “Yes, that paper showed how witty Mr. Darcy actually was!”
I liked it before honestly. I liked knowing that what I was or how I looked was never a part of the picture.
It’s not that way anymore. It may not be that way for a number of years or never?
I’m not complaining, I’m extremely happy with my life, but where I used to just prove myself, I now never will.  The assumption is now always the same.
I over heard a conversation I was never supposed to be privy too. I’m shocked by the statements, only for the fact that they were so bare, so truthful, and yet while I stood there, listening I realized my ’situation’ was much farther along than I had previously anticipated.  “She’s smart I think?” the teacher was saying. “Though, sometimes I have to first realize that she actually has the right answer before waving off what she is saying.” “It’s like my eyes can’t come to agreement with what my ears are hearing, and with no deal, my mind is left with confusion.”
I cried that day, and that night, not out of pity for me, but that my reality was altered as well.  I realized that evening that I was at a crossroads.
I had a decision to make, and although some would ‘say’ I was able to take both, it really only boils down to humanity and the decisions we decide to make while living amongst them.
Words are cheap, everyone, especially women in the educated sphere, will happily tell me not to fall in line with what my body is making an argument for.  You are a woman, hear yourself roar! Ignore the makeup, ignore the clothes, ignore the looks, and live your life.
I could have done that.
I went down the road of beauty, and love. Academics are still a part of my life sure, and I’ve done just fine in my High school and College years, but I certainly didn’t do them while trying to be a plain non feminine version of myself.
I happily embraced my womanhood and enjoyed my femininity!  I love my beauty, I have deep friendships with my girlfriends, and yes, I still was the Prom Queen.
Had I took the path of ‘smarts only’ I may have made something of myself, or possibly be the owner of a special skillset that no one cares to hear about.  However, I still have multiple special skillsets and love who I am, I know who I want to be and I happily acknowledge that neither of those decisions are in line with the popular culture’s desire to ‘fix’ my problem.
Last night, while prepping for my date, I caught myself in the mirror for a few seconds. It takes a while to ‘get ready’, but  I couldn’t be happier with that person in the mirror, I love her, and she is loved by many others.

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Three Little Dresses / Three Little Girls

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They’re images of brides whom I know nothing about. The dresses all match the shorter style which is all the hotness right now.

Each represents a type, a common theme.  The beauty queen, the country girl, and the chaste naive.  Some say the dress makes the girl, others say the dress finds the girl. I don’t know what to say, but I wish I knew stories of each of them.

“They’re just models” you say. “There is no story.” But there is I say, “there always is a story.” With beauty queen, why cover the right eye? Sure it could have been a photo shoot decision, but what if the makeup didn’t quite hide the circles, was she up all night partying? Was she up all night studying, and modeling is how she pays for college? I don’t know.

Take country girl.  Would anyone be surprised to find out that she doesn’t where heels that much?  The stance is awkward to say the least, but she may actually really be uncomfortable in those shoes.  The dark eyeshadow makes her all dark and twisty, which further messes with the genre we’re going with here, why a dark and twisty country girl?  Maybe she really is, so the shot was adjusted to fit her personality.

Finally, naive chaste girl.  This wedding dress scares me.  Why the baby blue bow? It feels like a young child is getting sent off to the wolves.  Her eyes are so doughy as to question if she even understands what a marriage is, let alone a lifetime.  The flapper esque dress with the antiqued room, sets the stage for a vintage style wedding, but the girls eyes really bring into question, if she really should get sent off with this groom.  Is that panic? Her fingers grasping hold of the bouquet and skirt to hold on to herself?  Possibly her personality is showing through, and she simply is concentrating that hard on the camera.  In all cases we’ll never know, but the questions will always remain.

Who were these girls, and what were their stories?

Image Credit: weddingomania.com

~Morgan Werhen 2018.

Window Dressing

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I turned the corner heading down the path on my way to somewhere.
The path was busy, everyone rushing past, phones singing, voices conversing.
The mass continued on past you, unknowing, almost ignoring.
I too have ignored and lived only in my head.
Though what was different about today?
Was the sun angle differently touching the stone and brick?
Was my mind altered from last nights proclivities?
Was fate showing up? Why today?
The reason not known, but life altered forever is truthfully obvious.
I stepped onto the last path toward my destination, unknown that you were near.
The phone in his hand reflected the light directly under my eye, forcing a sudden but fateful turn away
from the direct sunlight.  There were two ways to turn my head, I went toward the shop display window directly parallel
to me.
There you are.
Standing in the window, gown fitting, stunningly gorgeous. I stop suddenly. Your body is aglow in the sunlight streaming
into the window, face radiant, blue ice eyes staring through me. Single braid running behind, arms perched, unmoving.
The gown so staggeringly beautiful as to adorn such a perfect specimen.
I stared at you until your eyes locked onto mine.
~Morgan
Image Credit: praisewedding.com

If Marriage is So Hard then Why Do We Want It So Bad?

This image bothers me.  It bothers me that I’m so totally jealous of it.  I don’t know the chic whose slipping on the final piece of clothing before walking down the aisle.  I don’t know the smiley happy people waiting for her to walk down that flowery, or not flowery, or just plain people tunnel toward her ‘end.’ I don’t know any of the people watching her while they remember their happy moments when they did the exact same thing!
I don’t know the dad, or mom or aunt or brother or dog who will be accompanying them while they make that walk.
The most beguiling part though, she is going to put on that heel, stand up, barely hold on to her emotions the rest of the ceremony and step happily into a life of more servitude than even the moment this photo was taken.  I don’t mean she’s going to ‘hitch’ herself to a horrible man ( notice the use of man here, I go there only because I’m assuming that women marry men, orpinterest_bride_putting_shoes_on_6_3_2018 they magically find a man instead of a horny boy ) but that she is willingly giving herself less freedom.
The relationships with other boys are supposed to stop.  She’s supposed to stop flirting at work, if she even did in the first place, because lets face it, flirting has turned into a semi dangerous affair ( again, not a bad pun but a real use of a real word. )
No more special relationships with other guys or at least nothing secret.
Everything is supposed to be in the open.
When I was hanging out last night, us girls ended up a bar largely because they had the room and we all felt like sipping or drinking something instead of eating away our ( my ) sorrows and/or adding to ourselves physically while emotionally we remove mental baggage.
The calories aside, things can tend to get interesting with a bunch of women sipping mixed colory drinks or asking for a 2nd ( or 3rd ) margarita.
No one went overboard, but as we’re all chatting about all the things in our lives, they deftly gave me the floor for a good bit of the night.  I didn’t call ‘the boy’ any evil names, I may have wrote our married name down a couple of times and possibly ripped those papers up.  I may have deleted his contact and texts from my phone, I even may have changed my Netflix password because there is NO way he gets that! However, I did cry, and it’s so ridiculous, because this didn’t happen recently, it’s been some time, the breakup was months ago.
They’ve all been there, and while everyone agreed with me, they tried to nicely say that it was the ‘right’ thing, he wasn’t the ‘right’  boy. Though, in a lot of ways it only meant that for those who are married, or even dating, they knew in their hearts that they found the ‘right’ man. They also know why I haven’t, or some inkling.  I have wonderful friends, and they don’t know about this blog so they’re not going to know what I’m saying, but this is what I’m saying.  Everyone around that table knew knew KNEW that those who had the ‘right’ relationship were giddy that it was working, and they had ‘some’ amount of guilt being thankful that they weren’t me.
WHY?
WHY DO WE ALL WANT MARRIAGE SO BAD?
WHY DO WE WANT THAT SPECIAL SOMEONE?
I only ask because those same girls were happily complaining about their men.  He leaves his shirts all over the place.  He doesn’t like to wash his hands before a meal?
????? REALLY ?????
He doesn’t like this, or that. Yesterday you WON’T believe what he said about this!
I appreciated their complaints but they rang hollow. At the very least they rang hollow because I knew they were all trying to make me feel better.  Sure, some of them are having some real issues, and they are real issues that I don’t have, but they are dealing with them as a couple, as a twosome. I’m stuck as a onesome.
I want someone to be mad at because he doesn’t pick up after himself.
I want to have someone to come home to me.
I want someone to love me back.
I want to get dressed in the morning and have someone kiss me goodbye.
I want to have breakfast, and then have someone else get up and have breakfast with me ( it can even be a second breakfast or dinner, or brunch. )
I want the cold nights cuddled up together.
I want to fight with someone about money, decorating, or the something or the something else.
I want to have someone to do stuff with.
I want to. Not. Be. Lonely.
If I do a Google search on marriage I’ll find millions of people saying how hard it is, is it worth it for men?  Is it worth it for women? Everyone knows about couples in counseling, divorce happens all the time.
These are all horrible hard things, things I don’t have to worry about.
The people out there who make a living talking about marriage seem to say that it is ‘dying’ or that maybe it is an institution possibly not as important as previously thought. There are a lot of women who happily type about equality, and sleeping around, and how women can do that like men. They say that they need no one but themselves for happiness.
A lot of boys will happily keep dating around forever, no plans to stop their lives, or gasp have children and responsibilities!
If any of them are right, then why don’t I feel that way?
Why do I have to keep reminding myself that ‘I’m happy!’
I just wish I didn’t have to tell myself I have it all.
I wish I didn’t have to remind myself that getting up in the morning and doing everything alone is the greatest thing ever.
I wish my heart didn’t rip wide open when I stared at some photo of a strange woman putting on her shoe before she stands up, puts her arm in the arm of someone who after a small walk together will happily pass her into the arms of a man also willing to be tied only to her. I don’t know her, but I can’t seem to talk myself out of the fact that her life is better than mine, and I want what she has.
If all the things keep telling me that marriage is sooo hard, why do I want it so bad?
~Morgan
Image Credit: happywedd.com

Water Under the Bridge

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It started with that faint wisp of moisture, usually so subtle as to be mistaken for a breath, possibly a light breeze against the cheek, but everyone feeling it knows, it’s the rain.
Standing on the bridge I watched the water run its course, swishing and angry moving from one side of the bridge toward the continual swirl on the other.
The wind picked up and I shivered, wrapping my arms around my chest to warm up against the coming storm. Grey colors swirled above as the water rushed below.  I stared off at the leaves and branches, they swayed in unison, mocking the weather, laughing at me.  Why was I here?
“We have to talk.” I told him on the phone earlier. He was bothered by something, it was almost as if he knew already. “Meet me at our bridge” I stated, though, my voice lacked the confidence of my tone. The single tear escaped me then, but I held true through the conversation.  “I’ll be a little late, I have to stop at work for a thing” he responds, his voice trails off earlier than it should have.  “I’ll be there” he says finally.
“I’m here” I think, as I feel another dusting of moisture. Looking at my feet ( why am I barefoot? ) I ask myself. I see some moisture beading on the deck.  Lacking the will to give up, I decide to stay.
He did have to stop by work that day, there was a meeting, though that wasn’t the reason he was there.  Too many missed deadlines, too many mistakes.  Today he was simply picking up his ‘stuff.’ Though, initially he had planned on continuing on. There wasn’t much reason to stay.
“Meet at the bridge” she said, why did she sound so sad?  The breakup had been mutual, both had felt the relationship wasn’t enough to keep them together.
The weather picked up around him as he left his office, rain began dancing and mincing across the road.
She stood while the water fell from the angry sky, it first flattened her hair, working it’s way through her dress and eventually into her skin, soaking her to the point she slid slowly down the railing and sat on the decking. Her foot barely able to hold her knees while looking for something to grip.
He didn’t realize how little traction he had after accelerating onto the highway.  Though, he should have.  No one would have believed the story that he lost control in the rain. Though, his mind was racing, faster then his response time to the weather surrounding his mind.
Three weeks ago, the week before they broke it off.  They fought about direction, was the relationship swirling out of control? Where were they going she asked?
That night.
His eyes widened when he realized both the reason for the meeting and that the rear wheels were not going to hold on to the corner, the river in the road took his life for a final ride.
Waiting for her man on the bridge, the rains poured.  The wind whipped around her, She cried realizing he wasn’t coming.
I’m pregnant she said to herself, and looked up toward the sky as the rain continued to pour.
~Morgan Werhen
Image Credit: chobirdokan.com