The trouble with driving to Lincoln at last minute is the fact that last minute means exactly how it sounds. So, today I had to drop a few pre-planned objectives to make it out to the bridesmaids' dress finding. So, I love Nat. I'm totally honored that she even asked me to be a bridesmaid. She's awesome. Today, I met her sister (matron of honor) for the first time and I have to say, I haven't a single clue how she became so normal with the family she has. Her sister and her mom are both nuts, and Nat is soooooooo different. I'm glad she found herself a man who equals her coolness.


So, we go to look at dresses today, and I mention that Nat, my sister and I found a cute, tea length, cheap dress that would be wearable multiple times. First off, her sister says she hates her legs. Now, I have no idea what she thought she was doing, but she didn't even try the damn thing on and talked Nat into a dress thirty dollars more expensive and that needs to be hemmed and taken in on everyone but her. Anything else that any of us tried on, she pissed and moaned about and kept complaining about needing to alter. Just because I'm so miffed, I will mention that the final dress was actually too small for her. Ugh. I am so pissed off that she would even think about doing such a thing. I mean, I realize she has her own situation that would make it okay for her to afford that dress, but Nat wants all the girls to wear the same dress and neither my sister nor I can even come close to affording it. So much for Nat making the decisions.

On our way home, we start talking about what to do for the batchleorette party and she assumes responsibility, but then says she doesn't want it to be at her house or her daughter's house, but wants to have it in Lincoln. The whole damn wedding is in Omaha. When we drop her off at her house (which it took her FOREVER to leave the bridal store in the first place, and thus I couldn't get back to Omaha in time to take my sister to work), she says she's sorry for being such a pain.

Manipulation is spelled f-a-m-i-l-y.