That’s right! I dove straight in to slaying that list. I’ll have you know I already speak half-fluent French (French being as quantifiable as any other language can be) and finished 3 of Shakespeare’s plays. But while some of the things on my list take time to master or execute, there was one thing that needn’t wait…
Do it. Do it.
So here, in a comprehensive but in no way technical account, is how I did the deed.
1. Assemble tools. Realize you need more tools. Also get those tools (like gloves). (The bucket was $3 at Lowe’s)
2. Don protective clothing to which you have little to no sentimental attachment.
6. Enlist a feline companion to keep you company while the dress soaks for 30 minutes (or more if you’re not obscenely impatient like me).
7. Rinse it real good!
The dress is a polyester-cotton blend, which I think is why the coloring is so different throughout. I really like the effect, though! The color is also nothing like I thought it would be. I was going for a deep cobalt blue, but I think I like the lilac color even more. *cue metaphor for life*
It occurred to me afterwards that it might seem weird to keep the wedding dress after you’ve divorced, let alone dyeing it to use again. I did some research to see what other divorced women have done with theirs. As far as I can tell, it’s whatever they want. I’ve gotten rid of a lot of the “remnants” of my marriage that no longer served me but I want to keep the dress. I don’t want to entirely strip that part of my life from memory – after all, on my wedding day, at least, I was happy. I don’t want to forget that just because the moments that followed weren’t as pleasant – if we did that, there would be nothing in life worth remembering. I see dyeing the dress as a symbol of how far I’ve come: molded by the past, but ready for the future.