The Vintage Frock

My mom passed away from breast cancer when I was in high school so, by default, I inherited the Mother of the Bride role in my siblings' weddings. Next month, my sister Amy is getting married. I've already told her that if I'm going to be the MOB, then I'm going to be a hot one.

"That's entirely unnecessary," she told me.

As I have discovered, finding an appropriate dress for the occasion is not the problem; finding one that meets all of my criteria, however, is. The dress I'm looking for must be skin tight, have sleeves, fall past the knee, and be machine washable. It also must cost less than $30.

"I need to approve anything that you buy," my sister informed me over the phone.

Truth be told, if my sister had it her way, I would not buy a dress at all for her wedding. In an email I received last week, Amy suggested that I instead purchase a "vintage frock."

"Everybody else is doing it," she said, referring to the rest of the wedding party.

"That doesn't make it right," I hissed back. I then felt compelled to remind her that the same group of people watch foreign films on purpose and sometimes forget to shave their armpits.

"Besides," I said, "Wearing another person's clothes kind of creeps me out."

This isn't true, but it served the desired purpose of sending my conservationist sister over the edge.

To prove that my fears are totally unfounded, Amy sent me a photo of a dress currently listed on E-Bay.

"What's wrong with this one?" she asked indignantly.


I rest my case.