When I was a little girl, my cousin and I would always play brides.

I often scowled, relegated to being the groom, wishing for the white trail of a toilet paper veil.

As I grew, weddings held no spark. Life soured. Life took. Love was the mirage for fools in love who wished upon fairy tale dreams and believed in starbursts and gilded ages.

After all who chooses a wedding dress without a groom?

I had long since made up in my little cynical mind that I would never be a bride. I would never be a wife.

Yet here I stood, fighting buttons and tulle, beating my bosom into stark white fabric in a tiny Idaho garment shop.

Where was my groom?

Are you getting married? The burning eyes of the bubbly sales clerk seared into my fragile flesh. The flesh that couldn’t be contained. The flesh spilling from the too small dresses that failed to accommodate my ample bust.

No. There was no wedding. There would be no wedding.

I kicked the starbursts, sending them erupting into tiny explosions. Disappointment marred their faces.  

This dress was for the Lord. This was for no man.

Feeling proud I strode into the Meridian temple, my wedding dress in hand.

Sitting in the bride’s room, staring at the bride without the husband.

Wishing for my paper veil, praying for a simple golden band.

My husband was not here. I was the bride without the groom.

My groom would not find me here.

Stark white..stark white with no groom in sight.

Poor Ramona…groomless and alone.

Stark white…. With no husband to bring home

The stares of an expectant congregation mocked.

Their jeers, laughter and insults screamed loud obscenities kissed with the innocence of Mormon swears.

Stark white… stark white with eyes filled with unshed tears.

I felt the hand of the loving matron bringing me back to reality, slamming the door on the critics who believed my worth was only tied to my marital status.

You’re beautiful my dear.

Even without a groom… even dressed in white.

With no eternity in sight.

Stark white…stark white…stark white.