The Unholy Trinity

I swung by the dress store today to pay Walter a visit. Walter is the name of my wedding dress. I am having a torrid relationship with 20 yards of silk organza, and I must say, it is very satisfying.

While I was twirling around the store in Walter, The Other Bride asked if I liked her dress. I told her that it was beautiful, and we exchanged some ideas on how to embellish it a little more. Her two friends, a married couple, were very friendly and chimed in periodically.

Here's where things get weird.

The man asked when I was getting married, and where. He then divulged that he and his new wife (proud sweep of the hands) had recently gotten married in the Vatican. I was immediately intrigued, and asked a ton of questions. Did the pope officiate? Was it in the actual Vatican, Vatican? Did his wife have to cover up a little more to please the powers that be? Because the Vatican is like The Battleship Galactica for Catholics, right? Some extra special mojo is supposed to happen there, like maybe you get inspired to populate the earth with the fruit of your womb?

All four of us chatted for a bit, and when The Other Bride went to change back into her normal clothes, they both turned to me.

"Listen, is your fiance good looking?"

"He is."

"Sure?"

"Yes."

"Do you guys like to party?"

"What do you mean, 'party?'"

They were swingers, and wanted to know if we were into some down home, South Beach, no strings attached fun. They had an "open relationship," they said, and only picked out "nice looking" people to "party" with. I declined their offer nicely.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see myself mouthing the words. Clad in a veil and a wedding dress.

Of all the places in the world where you would expect an offer of a foursome, the wedding dress store is usually not one of them. And never while you're in The White Wedding Dress, which is supposed to symbolize innocence, purity, and *ahem* no prior knowledge of sinful, earthly temptations. Gotta love this city.