“Stop it,” Kendra warned, brandishing the mascara tube like a wizard’s wand. “You don’t want to be looking at your wedding album in twenty years and answering your kids’ questions about who the mangled raccoon dressed in white might be.” “I can’t…” Gasp. Hiccup. “Help it!” “Maybe she needs another glass of wine,” I suggested helpfully and Kendra threw me a look because the lovely bride had already downed half a bottle on an empty stomach. That wasn’t our fault. We knew Briana was a lightweight and a weepy drunk. However, Briana’s hair-flipping, stink-faced, maid-of-dishonor sister had been alone with her for ten minutes in the tiny dressing room and somehow snuck in a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon. By the time we snatched it out of Briana’s hands she was already glassy-eyed. “I’m just so happy!” Briana wailed as a fresh tsunami of tears erupted. Kendra tossed the mascara on the table in disgust. Earlier today we’d taken far longer than we should have in getting Briana and her wedding accessories out of her apartment and into the limo. With five fluttering bridesmaids, a surly maid of honor, assorted Midwestern aunts and cousins plus a surgically modified mother-of-the-bride who sucked the attention out of the air like vacuum cleaner, the scene fell somewhere between a sorority party and a circus. Just then the door to the dressing room burst open and Darcy, Briana’s roommate, thundered into the room.
