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Do you still have your wedding dress?

I do. I never got it together to have it professionally packed and hermetically sealed or whatever it is you are supposed to do with a wedding dress. So, yeah, 14 years later my wedding dress is in one of the bedroom closets. It's in a hanging bag, which, while a halfhearted effort at preservation, is still an effort. I consider the fact that it's not stuffed in a Hefty bag with some old towels and stashed in the basement a win.

My daughters came across it not long ago and wanted to try it on. I, of course, obliged. Their small frames were enveloped in the satiny folds, as I pinched the back together and helped them each to the mirror to look at themselves.

And then, excitement shone in their eyes as they cried, "Mommy! You try it on!"

Well. Okay. I could do this. After all, how much could my body have changed after three kids? (I'll pause while you finish laughing. Um, okay, you can stop now.) I went into my room and closed the door, so I could make a grand "Ta-Da!" entrance. Stepping into the dress, I pulled it up and put the straps over my shoulders. "So far so good,"I thought. "And it still fits in the waist! Yay me!" I said to myself smugly.

And then I reached behind be to pull up the zipper, I got it halfway up and… it stopped.

"Hmmm. It must be jammed," I thought. I pulled the zipper back down and started over again. Again, I got it halfway up, and it stuck.

It was then I realized that the dress was pulling so tight across my ribcage, and the zipper was gapping so much in the back, that there was no way I was going to get it zipped up.

Had my ribcage expanded? Is this a thing that happens from carrying children? I'm about the same weight I was before I had kids, but just shaped… differently. More like a russet potato. After a couple more fruitless attempts, I realized I wasn't going to get that zipper to pull up no matter what I tried. But, since denial is my specialty, I had another bright idea.

What if I zipped up the zipper all the way, and then pulled the wedding dress over my head? Ah ha! Surely I could just slip into it, pull it down, and voila! It would be a little tight, but I could certainly handle that for a few minutes. Yes. That was the way to go.

After zipping it all the way up I lifted the heavy garment over my head, and went in headfirst. Layers and layers of fabric cascaded around me as I wiggled my way upward, upward. I stretched my arms toward the armholes. Stretch, reach, wiggle. Almost there.

And then I wasn't.

The downward progression of my wedding dress had come to an unfortunate halt.

And I was now firmly stuck in it, my head somewhere below the bodice, with my arms pinned straight upwards.

"Um," I thought. "This… this is a problem."

I jumped up and down, hoping the momentum would help the dress move downward. No such luck. I was stuck tighter than ever.

Without the use of my arms, which were still pinned upwards, I couldn't pull the dress the other direction and go back the way I'd come in. I also couldn't reach the zipper to free myself.

I started to pant inside the heavy lace fabric I was now wedged into, partly because it was becoming warm, but mostly out of rising panic. Did I mention I'm claustrophobic? Fun times.

"Eeerrrggghh! Mmmmmppphhh! Aaaaaggggh!" Hop hop hop. "Oooooooof!" Arms in the air, I performed moves reminiscent of the inflatable dancing stick man outside of the local muffler shop.

I panted. I sweated, my face mashed against the lining. I pictured my kids bursting into the room to find my lifeless body on the floor, stuck half in and half out of a wedding dress, and clad only in Target brand underpants.

My husband would be widowed. My children would be motherless. "What happened to your mom?" They would be asked. "Oh, it's a really sad story," they would reply. "She smothered to death trying to prove she was the same size she was when she was married." My demise would forever be a moral to a sad tale of vanity gone wrong.

No. I would not allow my children to find me this way. "YOU WILL NOT WIN, YOU HEAR ME?" I shouted, er, gasped, because I'm positive I was dangerously low on oxygen. In mere seconds, I would have been walking toward the light in that damn stupid wedding dress. In a burst of strength and adrenaline, and possibly a split seam or two, I managed to angle one arm just enough to grab the fabric and pull myself free.

Once I recovered from my ordeal, I hung the dress back in the closet. I haven't gotten it back out since then, but every once in a while I like to walk by it, and whisper threats of stuffing it in a Hefty bag in the basement. You know, just to show it who's boss.

- Lisa Packer

Lisa Packer is a humor writer, freelance copywriter and blogger. Her blog, Notes from the Shallow End, is a Top Ten finalist for Blogger Idol 2013. She lives with her husband and three children in Cincinnati.