Come the fall I'm to be matron of honor for Single Gal's wedding. This is a high honor, and I think I've mentioned that being a Truly Dear Friend, she is letting me choose my own dress rather than forcing me to wear some flowery chintz upholstery fabric extravaganza with a gigantic bow in just the place no one out of elementary school should wear one. I don't mean to seem ungrateful, but this still saddles me with the job of
going shopping, a thing I detest (you now understand why Mr. W. prizes me highly). I just want you to see what I've got to work with.
The strapless stomach bustle. Moving the huge bow to the front does not make it less objectionable.
Might clash with the stained glass windows.
Because nothing says "Christian witness to the vows" like a middle-age matron in a halter dress.
Maybe. If the wedding were taking place on Crete.
Because there's dressed to the nines and then there's dressed to
x, the unknown.
I do want to make a statement with what I wear, and it's: I'm not a cougar, I'm the bride's best friend.
