I was married when I was 19, during the ten minutes or so when I was "thin" and pretty. The dress was made by my grandmother and she used antique lace (100 years old, she claimed) and antique ivory buttons and ivory colored satin (since I'd been a naughty girl and "had" to get married I was only entitled to "off-white"...) with a victorian neckline. It was beautiful and unique and my mother had it cleaned and put in an archival storage thingie. It then spent twenty years taking up too much space in the front hall closet. My children piled junk on top of it, ripped the bag and the 100 year old lace by throwing their skates and baseball bats on top of it. It is pathetic and bedraggled and a size I could never hope to fit into again even if my life depended on it. I feel only guilt every time I look at it. I wish I'd sold it way back when and let it go to a better home...