I’ve already worn a wedding dress. And Mr. S was there—in a tux.
No, I wasn’t a runaway bride—I was a Sweet 16 debutante.
Mr. S and I started dating in the year 2000, coincidentally also the year of my 16th birthday. Sweet 16 parties are (or were?) pretty normal where we’re from, ranging the full spectrum from Knights of Columbus halls to hotel ballrooms. Guess where I fell on that spectrum?
I fully own up to this. My parents graciously offered me a trip to Europe, a new car, or a Sweet 16 party. I chose the party. Looking back at my high school self, I have to admit I was pretty savvy. I knew that Europe would always be there. I knew that even if a new car wasn’t in the works, a used one would be, and I could deal with that. (My dad was the sole driver in our household before I got my license. He couldn’t wait to get me on the road.) But a Sweet 16?? A girl only turns 16 once in her lifetime. To me, the choice was obvious.