Ah, the wedding. The day every little girl dreams of, walking down the aisle towards her dreamy fiance in her dreamy white princess gown surrounded by dreamy friends and her dreamy family

enough dreamy flowers to hospitalize someone allergic to pollen, all so she can say, I dreamed a dream, and it's finally coming true.

No thanks, not for me. I mean, the getting married part, sure sure fine. I know how to organize the shit out of anything and if anyone knows their way around a contract it's the girl who graduated top of her class at Columbia law, But the dream of a wedding? Nah, I don't need to fall into a

trap designed by the patriarchy telling me that I should be dreaming of the day that will

define the rest of my life.

So I can what, prove to the world that I'm not a sad lonely spinster, but that I am special because

someone chose me?

I dream more about the day I passed the bar than I did about my future wedding.

Which is why my wedding is different. Because it has to be.

Because I'm me and I've done everything right. So why does something

about it still feel wrong? Oh we got April! Come on we're all picking out our

lip colors and Shayna wants to wear underage red, but Katie's already applied orgasm pink and you cannot walk down the aisle without lipstick. It's bad luck.

Oh, my gosh, your dress, it's... It's canvas, not white.

What do you think?

Well, it's certainly not traditional.

Mind pouring me a glass, Liz?

Actually, Josh, I do mind. Apes, I'm going to go check on the girls.

Just make sure they're not drinking too much.

Do you really like the dress or were you just being nice?

Well, as your best friend on a normal day,

I'd probably just be nice.

But as the best friend of the bride on her wedding day,

...