“You could always get married yourself and have it your way,” Ida Belle suggested. “Just as soon as I find a man who can handle a woman like me, I’ll see about it,” Gertie said. Ida Belle looked at me. “Looks like you’re safe from having to wear a bridesmaid dress.” Gertie gave her the finger and stomped toward the dressing room, waving the miniskirt above her head. “I’m wearing this to your wedding, even if I have to grease up to get it on. I might even run.” “Maybe you should just pick out one of those frilly, ruffled monstrosities for her to wear,” I said. “At least you could avoid the
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