TITLE: I Do. . .or Die
You just don't expect to see gunfire at a wedding.
I know, because I've been in a lot of weddings, despite my well-known aversion to them. "Always a bridesmaid, never a bride" is not just a cautionary adage, it's my personal credo.
Having a gigolo for a father might have contributed to that philosophy. Who really knows for sure?
Today Alexa, my best friend since grade school, glided down the aisle of the chapel, accompanied by a string quartet playing an elegant Handel air. For this wedding she wore a white strapless dress, complete with tulle and beaded embroidery that made all the women sigh as she passed. The low v-back and body-hugging mermaid shape, along with her icy blonde beauty, provoked quite a different response from the males in the congregation.
I clutched my single calla lily, watching her entrance with a mixture of awe and disbelief. How had Alexa persuaded me to be her maid of honor? Again?
"Shelby, you’re my good luck charm," she had cooed while I'd suffered through the circle of hell known as "trying on bridesmaid dresses".
"How do you figure that?" I peeled off a poufy satin monstrosity the color of Mountain Dew. "Every time I’ve been your maid of honor, you’ve gotten divorced!"
"Oh, that has nothing to do with anything. Everything goes off without a hitch when you’re there."
"Maybe that's the problem. If I weren’t around, there would be some sort of hitch, and then you wouldn’t be hitched."