all the trappings a wedding dost bring

On Sunday, B., C. and I watched K. try on wedding gowns at Justina McCaffery, a ridiculously expensive bridal boutique that just happens to have the most beautiful dresses I have ever seen in my life. It was all so Sex and the City, price tags and everything. The only difference being no champagne (boo) and that the designer is apparently from either Manitoba or Saskatchewan instead of Jersey (and I think if the shop girls can establish a definitive Manitoban connection, they could have an immediate sale to K.).

Having been married just over four years, I have become the de facto matron to whom all of my newly engaged friends ask for advice. (Or maybe I've just been offering advice despite not being asked because I think it is my place to do so. You say "potato", I say "you probably shouldn't eat so many carbs before your wedding day." I know. I speak from experience.) And my words of wisdom?

Feed your inner bridezilla. Make it all about you, you, you (and your soon to be betrothed, of course). Don't want to invite your fiance's cousin who you almost got into a hair pulling match with at the bar last year? Then don't. Want to spend a pretty penny on a dress you look Drop. Dead. Gorgeous. in? Then do. (Because you looked so, so stunning in it, and I am still trying to catch my breath.) But want rather to see three extra countries on your world tour instead of paying for that elegantly sculptured fabric? Then do that instead. Because there will be another dress, and I'll help you find it. Because for the next year, my friends, it's all about you. After that, you just get to sit on the sidelines, hold the camera and recall a day that hopefully turned out to be one the best of your life.