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Eimear Lynch

Terrifying true bridesmaid tales — and dresses

in Non-Fiction by

In the last ten years, I have been a bridesmaid five times. I wore periwinkle organza in New Hampshire, purple taffeta in Washington DC, navy cotton in Mexico, navy silk at a yacht club outside New York City, and magenta chiffon on a farm in upstate New York. I have planned showers and bachelorette parties, delivered some eloquent toasts, and some not-so-eloquent ones, packed emergency bridal kits, stood in receiving lines, helped to make flower arrangements, and herded wedding guests, Pied Piper style, to cocktail hour by playing a kazoo. I have been an emotional bridesmaid, a take-charge bridesmaid, an embarrassingly drunken bridesmaid, and a stone sober pregnant bridesmaid. I suspect that my stint last summer, as my younger sister’s…

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