THE BRIDESMAID’S TALE,
by Steve LiskowBethesda led us through the boutique like a kindergarten teacher dragging her kids on a field trip through the zoo. Gowns and veils and stockings and more gowns and veils and lingerie shimmered so brightly I wondered if I should have put on sunblock.
“These will be perfect for the bridesmaids,” she said. It was a decree more than a comment.
We all looked, Ashley, Corinda, Jalaypina (We all gave her lots of grief about her name, but she laughed about it, too), and me. Ashley and Cori were almost as blond as my sister, and Jally was a black woman with cornrows, so they wouldn’t have a problem. But I would.
“Um, they might be okay in the church,” I said. “But if the reception hall has fluorescent lights—”
“We’ve reserved the Centennial Club.” Bethesd
