“About the dress? I like it. I mean…it’s white. Bright white. Light bright halogen white. I mean as many times as you’ve been down the aisle, I would’ve expected battleship gray,” I said with a smile and a grin, attempting to camouflage as a joke what was obviously truth. “Get it, Momma? Battleship gray?” I said, as my laughter grew increasingly faint. “Momma?”

My mother’s face immediately froze. My joke sank faster than the Titanic . She stood, expressionless. Oh my God, what did I just say? It was a joke that just slipped out. It literally just slipped out from the green monster of subconscious envy and rage that had been steadily growing inside of me. I had just said one of the most cruel and insensitive things that a woman could ever say to another woman, and to my mother, no less. I mean, it’s not her fault that she’s accumulated more frequent flyer miles for her flights down the aisle than I’ve accumulated in ten years of cross-country travel. Oh my God, there I go again. Think Graham. Think happy. Think Thanksgiving. As she stood there with a blank look on her face, I could sense the overwhelming degree of pain that she was obviously in. Her pain became my pain as slowly, calmly, she responded.

“Whatever the color gown…at least I’m wearing one.”

Ouch. Then she gave me that mother look. That look that needs no interpretation, explanation, or translation. She stared and I shrank. As I shrank even smaller she stared. And I shrank. And she stared. Until finally, when I was the size of a midget ant caught in a trash compactor, she broke the silence and in a soft whisper asked, “Could you zip me up in the back, please?”

I sighed. I was forgiven. “Sure, Momma! Of course!”

As she turned her back to me, lifting her veil, I discovered the few straining strands of fabric struggling to house a woman two sizes two big for a dress two sizes too small. Quickly, I began to shift and pull, tuck and grab, yank and grip the abundance of loose flesh. This was my only chance to redeem myself. It was either the zipper or me, and today it was going to have to be the zipper. So, I grabbed, and I pulled. As the veins popped from my arms and the sweat poured down my face I started calling on chants from the Buddha, physics from Sir Isaac Newton, and finally even the Prayer of Jabez, praying that the dress would enlarge its territory to fit my mother indeed. Pulling…tugging…squeezing…Got it! Whew!

“What was the problem?” she asked innocently.