Free Chicken Soup for the Bride's Soul by Jack Canfield Page A

for a man who’d said he’d mention it to his daughter, no one seemed interested.
    Perhaps tomorrow we’ll have better luck, I thought. We moved everything back into the garage, closing and locking the doors behind us.
    While loading the patio set into my van, we discovered the umbrella and stand were weathered and rotted.
    “Samantha,” I suggested, “instead of refunding me half of the money I spent for the patio furniture, would you consider giving me the wedding dress instead, and calling it even? I have a sister I’d like to give the dress to.”
    “What would she do with it?”
    “She has antiques throughout her house. She’d display the gown.”
    Samantha smiled. It wasn’t the fairy-tale ending she envisioned, but somehow it seemed right. “You have a deal,” she said.
    While Sam was at work the next morning, I carefully removed the dress from the rack and put it in the house before the crowds arrived. About an hour before the end of the sale, the man from the previous day suddenly appeared with his daughter.
    “I’m sorry,” I explained. “The dress is no longer for sale.”
    The young woman’s face fell even as I noted that, just like the heirloom gown, she was tiny and petite. I looked into her eyes, and knew I couldn’t disappoint her.
    “Come with me.” I led her into the house.
    The dress fit her perfectly; she would be a stunning bride. Her father must have thought so too. He handed me a $100 bill and told me to keep the change.
    “No,” I protested. “I can’t do that. It’s right your daughter should own the dress. It almost could’ve been made with her in mind.”
    “I want you to take this,” he insisted. “Please.” He looked me squarely in the eye. “It is really amazing that we found this dress. She searched months for one like it, even looking in shops along the east coast, without any luck until today.”
    Now her search had ended.
    I took $45 for myself, and left the rest in the till.
    That night, I told Samantha about the bride, how stunning she looked and what her father had said. Misty-eyed and always the romantic, Sam drank in every word. The well-preserved dress had traveled many miles, but now its journey was over and she finally had the fairy-tale ending she always wanted.
    At last the homeless vintage gown had reached its destination.
    Pat Phillips

The Blessed Dress
    B elieve in fate, but lean forward where fate can see you.
    Quentin Crisp
    I got an engagement ring for Christmas. My boyfriend and I had been dating for almost a year and both felt the time was right to join our lives together in holy matrimony.
    The month of January was spent planning our perfect Alabama June wedding. My mother, two sisters and I went to Huntsville, the closest town with a selection of bridal shops, to buy the gown that would play the leading role on my special occasion.
    We had a wonderful time just being together and sharing silly jokes, but the day soon turned serious by afternoon: still no sign of the dress of my dreams. Both sisters were ready to give up and try another day in another town, but I coerced them into one more boutique.
    I had a good feeling as we entered the quaint little shop filled with the scent of fresh flowers. The elderly clerk showed us several beautiful gowns in my size and price range, but none were right. As I opened the door to leave, the desperate shop owner announced she had one more dress in the back that was expensive and not even my size, but perhaps I might want to look at it anyway. When she brought it out, I squealed in delight.
    This was it!
    I rushed to the dressing room and slipped it on. Even though it was at least two sizes too large and more costly than I had anticipated, I talked Mom into buying it. The shop was so small it didn’t offer alterations, but my excitement assured me I would be able to get it resized in my hometown.
    Excitement wasn’t enough. On Monday morning, my world crumbled when the local sewing shop informed me the