At Katie's house in NC, her mom and she look through bridal magazines and geek out to Martha Stewart and designers whose names I don't know or remember ten minutes later. The names remind me of pictures I've seen in certain types of magazines of slightly effeminate men in scarves and tight pants, with high, cut-glass cheekbones and European tans.
Katie is leaning toward a wedding date the September after next, while her mother continues to push (gently, persuasively, with all her diplomacy and Jedi Mind Tricks) for a June wedding.
My job, of course, is to back Katie and keep my mouth shut, and if those appear to be contradictory duties, you begin to see my dilemma.
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