Dirty laundry

On a recent Wednesday afternoon, I met Kelley for lunch downtown. After, I wandered over to Marshall Fields for a little spring browsing. I decided to check out the prom dress department, since I've forever lamented the fact that I settled for less than perfect dresses both my junior and senior years.

(I actually wore an awesome 1970s-era, long-sleeved, polyester wedding gown my senior year because I thought it made me look like Princess Lea. I had to toss it last year after a stray cat, named Sallie Mae, after my student loan company, nested in it on my screened-in back porch.)

Unexpectedly, hung high on a wall between prom headquarters and the bridal salon, I discovered my dream wedding gown. This from a woman who cannot picture her dream wedding.

I'd describe the dress, but I haven't learned any wedding dress lingo yet. Suffice to say, it is long, plain and silk with a low back. Fit for the Oscars, but maybe not for a church, which probably isn't in the cards for our galpal production anyway.

However, I did learn my first lesson of wedding dress etiquette this morning when I dropped the dress at the dry cleaners, hoping to remove the shoe marks of strangers from my train. Since the wedding, which Kelley and I haven't really talked about yet, is at least a year off, I asked how to best store it. Answer: in dark, cloth garment bag or beneath a dark bed sheet cover. Easy enough.