The Wrong Reason I Want To Remarry

Hint: it’s not about the husband

I’m going to just say it: my marriage sucked. It sucked hard.

I had two young children…and a husband in teenage format. Joseph wasn’t a partner. Between the mental load, I handled (while also working full-time), his weaponized incompetence, and his lack of presence due to his commute, he was a roommate at best.

There were no perks. We averaged a handful of date nights a year. We had sex once per quarter. We didn’t sleep next to each other. We didn’t talk at night. He used the floor as a trash can. He jerked off into our bath towels until I told him to knock it off. He was fine with dishes piling up at which point leftover milk solidified to a gelatinous white solid.

Okay, there were some perks. Four, to be exact. Joseph took out the trash. Joseph handled talking to the gardeners. Joseph lifted anything heavy I left for him to carry if I didn’t need it immediately. Joseph’s income with mine left us financially comfortable.

When divorcing, I vowed never to marry again with the caveat that I’ll make an exception for a wealthy, dying old man with no heirs. Marriage seemed like an excuse to adopt a cranky, messy man-child.

It’s been a year and a half since I moved out. Aside from trash duties (I paid my son a dollar once just to roll in the carts which I acknowledge should be his job anyway), things are easy. I clean the kitchen and it stays clean. I still manage household administration the same way I did before. I’ve taken on less, not more.

Joseph struggled when I moved out. He didn’t know anything about home ownership, property taxes, and how to get home insurance. My ginormous former house is piling up with trash, soon to be on an episode of Hoarders.

I once snuck some photos of the house in its current state and sent them to my friends. One wrote, “whoa, he needs a dumpster.” Another replied, “No…he needs a wife.”

Enough time has passed and I’m not jaded about marriage anymore. It’s not my goal or plans as it is with most young people.

But I want a wedding.

Let’s make it clear: I want a wedding. Not a marriage.

Like apparently 33% of Americans, I use TikTok. There are video trends where people recreate the same action, such as a funny dance or prank. Currently, there are videos of people running outside in fancy outfits to a sped-up version of Ceilings.

Many women use their wedding dresses because they’re gorgeous, poufy, and have long trains that look great in videos.

Like any other social media, TikTok notices trends. I dug through more videos to find out the designer of a particular wedding dress. Now the app thinks I want to see loads of wedding gown videos.

And they’re not wrong. I do.

My wedding was on a budget. It was $5k. I didn’t know anything about North American weddings having grown up only attending Indian weddings. My parents disowned me so I had no help, emotionally or financially. I hired vendors off Craigslist who were new to their roles and needed experience. I was 24 and there were no social media; I only saw what was in magazines.

I made my table centerpieces. My wedding invitations were printed using my inkjet printer. My shoes were brown suede sandals I used to wear clubbing.

I look at photos and yeah, it’s as ghetto as you’d think. But it was fully catered with an open bar. I had a florist and a photographer. There was a DJ. I also spent that money on an immigration attorney.

Finding my dress was a challenge. My eating disorder was in full swing and I barely weighed 95 lbs. Today, I could find a dress under a hundred dollars from Shein and it’d be fine. Back then, your options had extra zeroes. The dress of my dreams was $2000. It was so stunning that everyone on the second-floor balcony of the massive bridal store stopped to yell how the dress was perfect on me.

Instead, I got a $400 clearance gown. Once the alterations were finished, the dress cost triple that amount. It’s a pretty dress; a strapless A-line with a long train.

I never dry-cleaned or preserved it. I never could justify spending $200 for a dress I’d never wear again. It still has the boot print from my friend’s husband stepping on the back. In hindsight, we had the money to clean it. In hindsight, I had all the money. Down to one income made me realize how wealthy we were in the almost twenty years of marriage.

My intention was never to keep it for my daughter. I was microscopically thin and I never wanted her to feel bad about her body if she couldn’t fit into it as happened with a friend of mine in high school. You can’t alter a dress bigger, only smaller. I figure if my daughter wanted the dress I’d be happy to pay for it to be remade using photos for reference.

I’m in a Facebook group for trading and giving away free items. It’s a great way to avoid lugging stuff to Goodwill while also avoiding the trash. I like people finding a use for things that I’ve kept but never use. I’ve gotten a few things as well.

I posted my dress. I tried selling it online ages ago but the lack of dry cleaning wasn’t worth it after shipping. Plus, very few Americans are a child’s size 12. Angel gown locations are backed up and don’t need any more.

The post included the warning that I was very thin on my wedding day. One woman reached out, saying her friend is tiny and it would fit her. It was tough to give it away but I left it on the porch for the bride-to-be to pick up.

It’s not a symbol of my failed marriage. It’s a symbol of my former self, a satin version of my hopes and optimism for a happy life. I failed her. I used to tell people my wedding was the happiest day of my life, even more than the birth of my kids. The smiling, laughing girl in the photos needed a burger and loads of therapy. She didn’t need a wedding.

These TikTok videos show the modernization of dresses and the variety of types. They look like dresses fit for an Oscar red carpet. I assume they’re a small fortune; there’s no $400 clearance rack version.

I want another wedding. It would be full of all the fun things I’ve seen online over two decades, like a wall of doughnuts and better favors than the microscopic single piece of chocolate we gave. There would be loads of flowers. Dinner would be delicious, not chicken marsala.

I want a new dress.

I want something that will make everyone in the room gush. I want an excuse to get my hair and makeup professionally done. I want the feeling of wearing the gown in a room of people not permitted to wear white.

I want to walk towards someone, looking like an Instagram filter, wearing a dress so spectacular that the groom starts crying.

The dress is a symbol of a positive future full of love and happiness. After divorce, it’s hard to feel optimistic. The road ahead is unknown. It’s easy to spiral and believe that one bad situation was traded for another.

Maybe one day I’ll get married again. I can’t imagine spending today’s prices for a traditional event; a backyard barbecue will begrudgingly suffice. But I’ll be dammed if I don’t get to wear the most spectacular, dazzling, tear-inducing dress to it.