This is not a drill. This is not a test. This dress is for sale, and it must go - NOW. Please forward the below offer letter to anyone who may be interested.
*
Dear Affianced Person:
Congratulations on your forthcoming ménage à trois with your partner and the government. I’m sure you are bride-to-be sloshed, dripping in oohs and aahs and spinning from the disorientation of a thousand Instagram notifications.
I kindly ask that you pull your head out of the rainbows reflecting from the rock on your hand. I need a few minutes of your time and your undivided attention. Because if I do not sell this wedding dress soon, I fear I’ll have no choice but to defile its NEVER-WORN status. That’s right! I’ll remove its precious protective sheath and put it on. (I swear on your something blue I will!) And now that you’ve shown an implicit interest by reading this far, you’re officially complicit. (Surprise, bitch!)
I no longer care to receive monthly listing activity emails, from online wedding dress marketplaces, notifying me of my failures. The in-person, over the phone, and postal reminders from my mother are sufficient.
Soon it won’t be a mannequin modeling this Ryan & Walter custom-made Milan bridal gown on my online listings. (Oh no.) It’ll be me who’s captured in this dress, lacquered in the yellowest of shea butters, desecrating its purity. I’ll be makeup-less with my hair in Celie plaits, holding a lit cigar, open mouth chewing pomegranate seeds and red cherries, spitting out pits, and cursing all who’ve failed to save me from this descent. You included, barely betrothed!
All is sheer organza and sparkle tulle in Nearly Newlywed Land, until you must look in the face of a jaded woman wearing a wedding dress she once imagined herself happily-ever-after in. You don’t want that stain on your mind. Not before your wedding night.
I know it’s hard to focus. You’re basically lobotomized by the anticipation of achieving your next set of prescribed grown-up goals. Your head is filled with distracting visions of you wearing a designer ivory ball gown and doing the Electric Slide in see-through pumps that pinch your pinkie toes. But you are not Cinderella, beloved.
“Why can’t I be Cinderella,” you may ask?
Because Cinderella (who was best played by R&B legend Brandy; whose name is tattooed on the forearm of her brother, Ray-J; who made a popular home video with Kim Kardashian; whose longest marriage was her fourth and to Kanye West; who shares an on-again, off-again bromance with Jay-Z; who broke his marital vows to Beyoncé; who wore this same dress in her 2019 family holiday photos) isn’t real!
Forget Cinderella! A real-life mononymous songstress – who took her relationship’s sour lemons and used their essence, zest and juice as inspiration for a Grammy Award-winning visual album – gave this dress the green light. So you should stop hesitating and JUST. BUY. THIS. DRESS!
I’m willing to certify that this dress is a true virgin. Not born again like those other used wedding dresses undoubtedly marked by remnants of nervous sweat, champagne burps, and foolish hope. This dress has been she-bagging in my closet, in its original garment bag, zipper-fastened and chaste.
It’s virgin like Mary in the stable after giving birth via divine c-section. (It comes with a veil.) Virgin like a Bloody Mary without the vodka. (It’s a frock-tale: a fancy, untouched dress with tons of character.) Virgin like the eggs in a vegan omelet. (It hasn’t been touched by any cocks.)
I apologize if my mention of multiple bloody Marias is as triggering for you as it is for me. You’re probably having a flashback to that “Ave Maria” moment from The Sound of Music. The one where Maria’s gliding through a crowded church, like a celibate ghost, after dumping Jesus to marry that folk dancing, thin-lipped captain, and his gaggle of chirping children. Your mind is now replicating scenes from that theatrical moment into your own upcoming wedding, with some tweaks of course.
You envision yourself sashaying this dress’s glistening train between rows of 100 nears-and-dears to Faith Evans’ background vocals in DMX’s “How’s It Goin’ Down.” You’re flexing your toned and tanned left leg – draped in this dress’s 3D high-slit – ensuring it’s captured in all its glory before you hit advanced maternal age. You’re broadcasting your worthiness against the creative black-tie theme of “A Whimsical Evening at an Outdoor Harlem Renaissance Speakeasy, Located in the Middle of a Dense Jungle of a Sparsely Populated Caribbean Island.” And to that I say: what a fucking waste of your cognitive peak!
I’ve been there; and can confirm, the clarity of a broken engagement favors you greater than the impairment of bridal bliss brain. Particularly with respect to this wedding dress transaction.
Unlike other sellers, I haven’t yet committed myself to an indefinite future of unremarkable misery with a mate. I can do bad all by myself. Plus, I’m a lawyer.
But don’t worry – I’m not interested in selling you any lies. Given that you’re probably window-shopping in places and on sites that include the word “preowned,” it’s likely you can’t afford the extra expense.
In fact, to prove my word is bond, I’m willing to offer the following representations: (a) no one was murdered in this dress; (b) no period stains or other love excretions had to be bleached out of this dress; and, (c) no one wore this dress to marry an insidious incubus cosplaying as a prince charming. I assure you this legalese is binding, because my name includes the suffix of “Esq.,” which is abbreviated Middle English for “shall spontaneously combust if she doesn’t sell this dress soon.”
Also, I’d like to offer you some wedding dress trivia I’ve picked up along this journey of trying to rid myself of the final souvenir from my first broken engagement. (Don’t worry, it’s gratis.) At least now you’ll have something interesting to parrot during your cocktail hour. (You’re welcome.)
· The Royal Collection Trust isn’t currently accepting donations of wedding dresses from the supremely afflicted. At least not from a Black American laywoman.
· Burning a wedding dress outdoors in California is illegal currently, because the state is slowly incinerating at its own pace and doesn’t care to be rushed.
· A crematorium will burn a wedding dress in its body burner, but only under the condition a corpse is wearing it.
Do not underestimate the difficulty you’ll have in finding an accommodating corpse. It’s as lengthy of a process as selling a preowned wedding dress. How long, exactly? So far: 39 months!
This is why your further action is required NOW. Soon this dress will be a 40-month-old virgin and will cross the threshold from, “Oh, that’s a reasonable deal,” over into, “Ew! I’ll pass.”
My life’s dreams hadn’t shown me on this side of charity at this point in my life, but I’m willing to sell you this dress at a whopping 42% discount. If that’s not enough, take heart knowing your purchase will contribute to the reparations of a woman scorned.
Reparations of a Woman Scorned is a kitchen band I co-founded with my appliances. We’re in need of a new juicer, a cabinet remodel for better acoustics, and travel funds to gather source material for our next project. (It’s tentatively named, “You Don’t Need a Honey, There’ll Be Plenty of Sand To Play With in Mauritius.”)
Thank you for considering this dress for your special day. And, remember, although I was trying to buy a dream, and ended up with just a dress, it is a breathtaking (NEVER-WORN) dress built for a Beyoncé. So, allow this single lady’s shimmering designer trash to be the wedding dress of your glistening fantasies. I implore you. Go to its listing (here or here) and click “Buy this item.”
Or blood will be on your hands — and on your marriage.
Kindest regards,
Sheila Ongwae, Esq.
P.S. The hand-beaded details, on the exposed boning of the corset bodice, have likely lost some of their luster. So, I’m willing to negotiate any shipping costs.
This was my bedtime story tonight. Hopefully I have no bad dreams wearing this dress. Lol. Great read….hope it’s sold already.💕
Love this! The first sentence took me down 🤣 LOL!