This article was published in a Shavuos magazine edition one week before my wedding and I blushed as I read it smug and happy.
F rom my view at the sidelines the inner circle looks bright: a pageant of rosy-cheeked girls in poufy dresses diamonds on their wrists and in their eyes. The kallah is a flash of white lace joy.
My friend and I watch titter yawn check our phones for irate messages from the babysitter. Our own poufy dresses are tucked away in some dark closet; either they don’t fit or they serve no purpose. Long-ago nights of heels and jewelry and dance have been replaced by dinner and bedtime routines.
My friend tilts her head in the direction of the glittery circle. “We never had that my husband and I.”
“What?”
“That euphoric shanah rishonah the flying in the clouds.” She shrugs.
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