i’m often told that black is a good color for me, and i’m thankful i can wear it well — i have a closet well-peppered with black items of all shapes, sizes, cuts and textures. can’t go wrong with black, any time of the year, and it lends itself nicely to accessorizing.

but there are times when maybe defaulting to black aren’t the best choice. like today, when a guy friend wished me Happy Valentine’s Day and noted that he’d even worn pink for the occassion (who doesn’t love when a guy wears pink?? kudos)…and i had to begrudgingly admit that it hadn’t even crossed my mind to dress festively. i’ll take it one step further — i’m predominantly dressed in black.

oh geeze. but, okay, it’s just a gooey, fluffy holiday. no reason to get worked up about my unfortunate spin of the closet color wheel.

however, i think my dream last night may have taken this fashion “do” to a whole new level of “don’t.” (i almost can’t believe i had this dream the night before Valentine’s Day — God has a funny sense of humor. or else i need psycho-therapy.)

i somehow found myself engaged, to an inconclusive fiancé whose name and face never materialized at any point in the dream (classic, no?). i was shopping with my mom and a couple of girlfriends for the perfect wedding dress — and went home with a fiasco of Victorian-style black lace, complete with light pink accents and a pink waist sash.

black lace, for a wedding gown. talk about a disaster waiting to happen. and i apparently didn’t see any twinklings of bad omens hanging around the fact that i wanted to get married in black, which is even more disturbing than the fact that i chose the dress in the first place.

here comes the bride, all dressed in…

wait, let’s start again. something’s compleeeetely wrong here.

thankfully, i came to my (clouded) senses later on that evening, when looking at the dress at home (in dreams, things like wedding dresses go home with you right when you buy them — there’s no waiting period for those of us who need instant gratification at all times).

me: “what was i thinking? i can’t get married in black. people don’t get married in black.”

and everyone around me affirmed that this was, obviously, a noted fact. of course, they hadn’t inked on my parade earlier that day when i insisted upon purchasing the dress — that would have been too easy.

at least the disaster was avoided, and i didn’t shock any groom by walking down the aisle as a perfect posterchild of morbidity, dooming our union from the start.

then again, the dream also ended right after i came to the epiphany that getting married in black might not be such a hot idea, so you do the math. maybe i made up the whole engagement in the first place, and i was just supposed to learn that you don’t do things like wear black to weddings.

at least, not when you’re the bride.

however, it’d give those annoying guests who think it’s perfectly fine for them to wear white to a wedding a valid excuse.
always a silver lining.