Memoirs of a Fat Girl

Meet Catherine, all 45 pounds of her glittering silk, crinoline and crystal beadwork on a five figure price tag. Any dress with that much presence deserves a name.

Catherine was your standard cut princess gown. Sweetheart neckline, spaghetti straps, tight cleavage-flattering bodice and poof to spare. So if you're thinking, what the hell is a non-girly girl doing in a getup like that, I'll just have to admit Catherine's magnificence was so blinding, we decided Oli should try on every style of dress. Was it possible we'd been wrong all this time and could be... pleasantly surprised?

Absolutely not. Women, know thyselves and never doubt. If as a child you collected caterpillars and picked fights with Girl Scouts, chances are you do not belong in a princess gown.

My sister did not belong in a princess gown. We knew this the minute she zipped up and looked at herself in the mirror. None of The Dream, twirling or giddy happiness with hearts aflutter here, just one glaring image: Cake Topper. "Man, I look stupid."

"Yeah you do. Oli, where are your feet?

Oli kicked out her leg and disaster struck. Catherine was so heavy that standing on one foot totally displaced Oli and she went down, semi-pirouette, her head just missing a nearby armoire. More panic. More ruckus. And once we'd determined her skull was in one piece, lots more laughing. I mean, there was my sister, spread eagle on the floor, trying to crawl out of a twelve thousand dollar dress that just seemed to keep sucking her back in. Wouldn't you laugh?

All the noise of course brought Kim back through the curtain to see a red-faced Oli on the floor and me beside her, fetal position, howling away. Peggy Post, eat your heart out.

We got her safely out of the dress, and Catherine safely back on the hanger, away from our idiotic clutches. And by this point, Oli had had enough. She flipped through her issue of Modern Bride to a dogeared page showing an understated, yet gorgeous wedding dress. Totally unique. Totally Oli. She tore the page out, thrust it at Kim and said, "Make me this."

Measurements were taken, done deal, and we said goodbye to Catherine on the way out. We're sure she'll make some bride feel very beautiful, and very gravity bound.

As for me, Ms. Maid of Honour, maid to the bride, I have absolutely nothing to wear. But we talked about it over coffee and agreed on two things. First, since the "polished" look has been taken off the wedding dress, it has also been taken off the bridal party. Second, funky overrides classic, and my outfit will strive for something on the lines of "Cowgirl Gypsy."

I may hate dresses, but I'm definitely okay with that.