"Deal," Sophie grinned. "And if your string quartet drowns out my guitar player, I’m throwing a bouquet at your head."
The tension in the room spiked. It was the age-old conflict: Structure vs. Chaos, Pinterest Perfection vs. Wildflower Whimsy. They circled each other, the crinoline of their dresses rustling like the sound of drawing swords. brides war
For a moment, the war stopped. The mutual enemy was no longer the other bride; it was the catastrophic butchering of a sacred moment. "Deal," Sophie grinned
Elena looked at Sophie’s bare feet. Sophie looked at Elena’s architectural dress. Chaos, Pinterest Perfection vs
Both brides froze.
From the garden below came the sound. Not the regal opening of Pachelbel’s Canon, nor the familiar strum of an acoustic guitar. It was the DJ, confused by the double paperwork, mashing them up. A techno-remix of Here Comes the Bride overlaid with Benny and the Jets .