By Lisa Scott Sorting through the mail, my fingers closed around the thick, glossy envelope that screamed wedding invitation. I passed it to my roommate, Micki, who was sipping her coffee while grumbling about men who tie up the bar, then leave lousy tips when she refuses to hand over her phone number. “Shocking news,” I told her. “Another wedding invitation.” She was scheduled to be a bridesmaid in eight weddings over the summer and had been invited to another five. It was costing her a fortune. Thus, the grumpy attitude as she detailed the night from bartending hell. She’d been moonlighting to pay for all the wedding costs. Affordable bridesmaids’ dresses are the thing of fairy tales, apparently. But she’d created a wedding advice blog detailing her adventures, so she was making the best of it. “Did you get invited to this many weddings when you lived in Boston?” She sighed. “Nope. But Springfield’s my hometown, so I know lots of people here. Guess they were all waiting for me to move back before they got married.”
