Love ballads play quietly through the speakers as I’m squeezed in between the nine other bridesmaids, Bri’s mother, her three aunts, both of her grandmothers, and four saleswomen helping us. Wiggling, I raise and move to the back of the room just so I can breathe some fresh oxygen. It’s only two hours in and I have a feeling this little version of hell won’t be over any time soon. The women chat amongst themselves as we wait for Bri to try on another wedding gown. I’ve lost count, but we’re well into double digits by now. The chatter stops as the bride-to-be enters the room which is filled with collective gasps of ohs and ahs. I bite down on the inside of my cheek, trying to keep my eye rolling in check. Standing on the podium in the middle of the mirrors, Bri turns side to side, looking at herself from all angles. I hold my breath and cross my fingers that she’ll pick this god-awful dress. This thing has to weigh at least fifty pounds with all the material and feathers that dress up the skirt.
