20 Questions

Chapter 86

The last couple months have been the best of my life. Wedding plans are in full swing and the greatest day of our lives inches closer. Going back to work wasn't easy, but we dedicated every evening to a work-free zone with quality time together. My mom, Helen and I are going wedding dress shopping today and I couldn't be more excited. I had always heard that when you find the perfect dress, you just know. I hope I know today because the thought of going to ten different bridal stores and trying on hundreds of dresses doesn't sound appealing to me. I sent my dad to the tuxedo rental place with Hunter and the guys to supervise and make sure they aren't standing at the end of the aisle looking like Harry and Lloyd in Dumb and Dumber...or worse...a bunch of pimps. If I see one purple top hat on the day of my wedding, I will lose it. Maybe sending my dad wasn't such a good idea. I remember making him change clothes after he tried to convince me his red shorts matched his yellow shirt because the shirt had a ketchup stain on it.

"Hello, my name is Jenna Janes and I have an appointment today," I tell the girl at the counter of the bridal shop while Helen and my mom marvel at the rhinestone tiaras and lace garters behind me.

"Yes, Ms. Janes. We have been expecting you. Based on the list you submitted of your preferences, we have set aside several different options. If none of those are to your utmost satisfaction, we will keep looking. Follow me and I will show you to the changing area."

She hands us all flutes of champagne and walks ahead of us like she has stick permanently lodged up her ass. I look over at Helen and my mom and stick my nose up in the air as we walk, imitating the tart that will be helping us today and mouthing utmost satisfaction behind her back. Her hair is perfectly slicked back into a tight ponytail and she talks like she is the personal assistant to the first lady. My mom snaps her fingers at me with a smirk as Helen giggles into her hand. I'm starting to wish there were some sort of redneck bridal dress saloon where they slam back bottles of beer and scream out "Fuck no" if you don't like the dress. That would be more my style and a whole lot more fun. The girl hands me a slip as she eyes my body up and down, taking inventory of my goods and making me feel like a lab rat.

"We're going to need a bigger slip," she scoffs, pulling the one out of my hand, and heads off to retrieve said slip. Or maybe a bigger stick for her rectum.

"It's only because of your large bust," my mom reassures me. I am slender, but my mom passed her curvy gene right on to me.

"She must not be used to seeing all this junk in the trunk," I joke, rubbing my hands over my butt. Helen laughs loudly while my mom shakes her head in disapproval. "Just think, Helen. You could be doing this soon enough."

"Yeah right," she laughs. "Patrick and I are nowhere close to this."

She's right, but they are pretty adorable. They have been inseparable since we brought her back home with us. I don't think they have spent even one night apart. I will never forget the day she told me that they finally slept together. I laughed so hard as she confessed how she only lasted two minutes from all the pent-up sexual frustration. She said she kept trying to get Patrick to sleep with her, but he was so afraid that she wasn't ready and didn't want to be disrespectful. Thank goodness Hunter was never like that. That boy ravaged me the second I gave him permission and it didn't take long for me to do so. She was so worried about the age difference even though it is only five years, but she said the worry quickly washed away once she discovered the stamina of a younger man. We were both in tears laughing as she had to keep repositioning herself in the chair from her wild night. I'm happy for them, I really am. They both deserve great love.

The girl returns with the "bigger" slip and I quickly change into it. The first dress she brought out was hideous and I refused to even try it on. It had puffy sleeves. Puffy sleeves. It is not the eighties and puffy sleeves are grotesque. I worried that maybe I gave her the wrong idea about what I like, but the next couple dresses were far better. They still weren't my perfect dress, but they were definitely an improvement. Seven dresses later, I'm frustrated, tired of pulling things over my head, hungry and completely over the assistant that continues to refer to weddings as "magical works of art." Don't get me wrong, I'm excited about my nuptials, but this broad is acting like they are the eighth wonder of the world. I admire her passion, but it's making my stomach cramp worse than a bottle of magnesium citrate.