My first official duty as a bridesmaid was to skip down to my local David's Bridal to be fitted for my dress. Of course, by “skip” I mean “drive,” and by “local” I mean “suburban.” And by “suburban” I mean it may as well have been in Haiti for all I knew. Fortunately, David's Bridal is achingly familiar with clueless people like me and their website gives detailed instructions on how to reach each and every one of their stores.

The bride who I will be maiding is a fantastically well-organized person. She supplied me with all the pertinent information about the dress, such as style number and color. Still, no amount of organization could have prepared me for the scene that awaited my arrival. You see, I had unwittingly chosen to make my pilgrimage to David's Bridal on $99 wedding dress day.

Now I've heard horror stories about these blow-out sales and most of those stories involve crying, screaming, and the forcible removal of at least one clump of hair. So compared to my expectations, the actual experience fell a bit flat. Oh sure, the place was crowded with anxious looking ladies clutching yards of white satin in their trembling hands. But there was nary a tear and not even the hint of a fistfight.

The thing that did surprise me was the number of onlookers per budding bride. It seemed like at least three generations of family were present, along with the entire bridesmaiding corps and a smattering of flower girls. Most heavy-weight boxing champions can't boast an entourage that big. The entire back end of the store was a sea of mirrors and dressing rooms. At the front of each dressing room was a small pedestal, perhaps ten inches high and eighteen inches square. I suppose the official reason for these was so that the hem of each dress could be marked evenly. It was obvious, though, that these small risers served a different purpose for the brides-to-be. Each one stepped from her dressing room and took her place just a tiny bit above us all, slowly pirouetting, hoping for someone to look at her and sigh and tell her, “you are the most beautiful bride in the world.” I would've liked to say that to them all, but I was afraid I might be sued.

My own experience at David's Bridal was less magical. They didn't have my size, but the helpful salesperson convinced me to try the next size up. In her words, “the strapless dresses, sometimes they run kinda snug, to, you know, hold everything in there. So maybe a bigger size will work.”

It wasn't until I was halfway into the dress that I realized her words, while assembled in a fairly meaningful sequence, made absolutely no sense. Don't you want the dress to hold everything in there? I may not be very girlish, but I'm pretty sure that pulling a Janet during the ceremony would make me the worst bridesmaid in history. So I ordered my regular street size, grabbed my compass, and slowly made my way home.