When I was a “bride-to-be” (gag!) I bought the magazines, thinking they must know something useful, so I looked at the checkoff list: manicure, no way; hairdresser, no way; rehearsal dinner, ditto, on and on down the list. So I went to a cut-rate jeweller and bough a couple of sterling bands, bought mill-end cotton yarn and wove 10 yards of twill, sewed a dress for me and then a shirt for him, bought him a new pair of Levi’s, and we were set. Potluck dinner in the $50 fire hall, f-i-l to do the legalities, $1500 for the whole shebang. Life continues, 23 years later, to be a low-budget affair. Two kids on great scholarships to fabulous colleges.

I do wish there was a “preview comment” button here.

Thanx for listening. Or not.

Just watch it, ’cause if Ellen starts raving about rippling abs ‘n such, her readers might start begging for pictures, and you never know where that could lead. Although chants of ‘take the sweater *off*’ come to mind. ::runs for the hills::

As far as the dress size, that would explain why they were so upset with me when I went for final fitting. You see, DH and I had been working (very hard) on getting our house liveable before the big day. As you may have already guessed, I put on a bit of muscle across the shoulders, causing the seamtress to have to alter my dress to fit.

Oh, and she’s right that I did go to the gym. Twice this week, in fact.

And passive wives, hell. Geesh. I learned about marriage from my parents, who married in the early 50’s. Supposedly the dark days before feminism, right? Not with them. I can remember Mom telling me marriage was a partnership. Sometimes it was 50/50, sometimes 90/10, sometimes 40/60 - you adjusted as necessary, and the lead would change hands depending on the situation. But both always had input. Worked for them for over 30 years. I figure I got lucky, ’cause I imprinted on that early, and managed to get it when I did marry. Was also lucky in that I wasn’t raised to believe my main goal in life was marriage, either. But man, it sure is still an uphill climb we have to make, with the end nowhere near in sight.

Now, if you guys want t-shirts, you need some from Franklin Habit’s cafe press shop. The Dolores the sheep and the Don’t Mess With Women/Men Who Knit T’s are a *helluva* lot more apropos!

Mitts are looking even more gorgeous, btw. Yes, I’m catching up on comments in one swell foop. LOL.

;)