Kyla got married.

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Just hours before the ceremony, I gave in to fellow-bridesmaid pressure and the chilling glares of her mother and left my boots behind, wearing instead a pretty pair of bronze heeled shoes that Mav was kind enough to lend me. Despite Kyla’s insistence that she wanted me to wear whatever I was comfortable with and retain a semblance of my individuality, I think she was happier I chose to conform, so I’ll try not to regret the loss of this once-in-lifetime opportunity to be a booted bridesmaid. Unfortunately, pretty heeled shoes or no, I was still accused of power-walking up the aisle, though I’d tried my damndest to mince my steps.

She was beautiful, resplendent in a satin and diamante number she made herself, though I’m glad her tattoo was exposed in all its incongruity. I was there by her side, proud but uncomfortable in lacy sage green, holding her bouquet as she said her vows, signed the marriage certificate as her witness, and did my valiant best to hold up the train of her dress, though true to my klutzy self, very nearly tripped over it myself. I was devastated when she tactfully asked if she could have her dress back, but I got her back by pretending to make love to the totem pole during the photo shoot.

Mark and Kyla will probably retire to suburbia and marital bliss (or complete the transition in short order, anyway) have lots of gorgeous children and live happily ever after.

I am trying upload a pic of Kyla looking ethereally gorgeous but it appears i can't due to having the free and limited account.