The day I went to get divorced, dressed as a bride.
When my husband told me he wanted a divorce, I walked straight to my wardrobe and pulled out my wedding dress.
What are you doing? he asked, looking completely bewildered.
Im going to wear this to court, I replied, giving the dress a good shake to get the dust off.
Are you mad? You cant turn up to a divorce hearing dressed as a bride!
Of course I can. And you will be wearing your wedding suit. If you swore eternal love to me in that suit, you can swear eternal divorce in it too.
I could see him scrambling for a counter-argument, but he didnt have a decent one. Twenty minutes later, he was rummaging about at the bottom of the wardrobe, muttering as he searched for his suit.
When we arrived at the courthouse, the security guard actually froze. A woman called out, Congratulations!, only to have her friend nudge her and whisper, Idiot, theyre getting divorced!
The judge nearly toppled off her chair when she saw us walk in. I stood there in the full white gown, veil and all. He was in his tux, bow tie, and shoes polished to a shine.
Madam, asked the judge, suppressing a laugh, can I ask why youre dressed as a bride?
Because, Your Honour, I explained with as much poise as I could muster, this man promised me till death do us part in just this outfit. Since death hasnt parted us, but he wants to break that promise, I think he ought to look at me just as he did when he was making it.
My husband met my eyes, tears glistening in his.
I never lied to you, he said. I really did love you that day.
And now? I asked, my voice catching.
The judge cleared her throat.
Ill tell you what, she said. Im giving you both half an hour. Go for a walk, have a talk. If you come back, still dressed like this and still certain you want to go ahead, then Ill proceed. But something tells me two people who do this have a lot left to talk about.
We stepped out into the corridor. He straightened my slightly crooked veil.
You look beautiful, he said softly. Just like you did on that day.
And you look quite dashing, I admitted, though you can be a fool sometimes.
There we stood, dressed for a wedding, in the middle of the courthouse, with not the faintest clue what to do next.
What if he ventured timidly, instead of getting a divorce, we went for some wedding cake and tried to remember why we got married in the first place?
Is that what true love is showing up for a divorce dressed as you did for your wedding or are we simply two hopeless romantics who never learnt to do things by halves?
