I walked down the aisle fully buffered by my parents and sisters. I objected to being “given away”, cringed at the thought of being on display, and twisted myself into knots to find feminist, non-commercial interpretations of everything laid out in the wedding script. I was twenty-three, both a hopeless romantic and fiercely anti-sentimental, experiencing a jarring dissonance between the opposing pulls of ritual and resistance. It was hard to articulate a creative vision that was more than defensive, but I was stubborn. I enlisted help in sewing my dress, asked a friend to take the photos casually, refused to pretend that I cared about flower arrangements or appetizers. Despite my qualms, it turned out to be an amazing party, joyful, exuberant, steeped in love; the first time I’d basked in the glow of being celebrated, the first time I felt at home in a crowd.

From 100 Words: The Beauty of Brevity. Word prompt: aisle.