Look, I've been in scads of weddings, my own (leading to a dismal marriage and an even more dismal divorce) and approximately twenty-seven others. Which means that I've propped up hysterical brides, sobered up inebriated grooms, changed dirty diapers on flower girls, and worn bridesmaid dresses that were patterned after the Hindenburg. So now that my daughter Jenna has been bitten by the matrimonial bug . . . I can handle it. Being Mother of the Bride couldn't be any worse than being in those other weddings, could it? In a word, "yes." I'm going to need some serious help. But my posse, my three very best friends, have zoomed into the Twilight Zone.
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