I wore a pale yellow sleeveless floor-length gown with a beaded bodice.  My braces sparkled, and my hair was in a French braid.  My curled bangs were plastered with so much hairspray I was terrified someone would light a candle next to me and I’d instantly go up in flames.

This was my initiation into the world of being a bridesmaid. My mom was getting remarried and asked me to be her maid of honor. I don’t think I did any of the things a maid of honor is supposed to do. But I wore that yellow dress with conviction and stood proudly next to her on a rainy day in March in a tiny Dallas church with emerald green carpet.

A few weekends ago I was a bridesmaid for the 17th time. When I tell people how many weddings I’ve been in, the response I usually get is, “You’re like that girl in 27 Dresses.”  Outwardly, I laugh, but inwardly pray I meet someone well before being a bridesmaid that many times.