In the old days, she’d be telling me about some harebrained scheme to meet men. Back then, I hated those schemes. I cringed when I heard them. But now, looking back, I yearned for one of her crazy ideas, for the good old days when we were two single gals in Lalaland.

“Armando thinks I should go with violets, but I’m not sure.”

“Armando? Who’s Armando?”

“Didn’t I tell you?” Kandi said, abandoning her carrot slice. “I hired a wedding planner. I’ve been so busy with Beanie, I haven’t had much time to devote to details.”

Kandi, for those of you fortunate enough never to have seen her show, is a writer for Beanie & the Cockroach, a stirring cartoon saga of a short-order cook named Beanie and his pet cockroach, Fred.

“If Armando thinks you should go with violets, why not take his advice? That’s what you’re paying him for.”

“I guess you’re right,” Kandi said, plucking a grain of salt from a chip. “Although lately, I’ve been thinking freesia would be nice.”

Poor Armando. Something told me he’d be earning every penny of his fee.

“Armando is just so incredibly creative; he’s got the most fabulous ideas. He thinks we should get married on the beach at sunset with champagne and gypsy violinists.”

“The beach at sunset, huh?”

I could feel my hair frizzing already. Something Kandi, with her head of enviably straight chestnut hair, would never have to worry about.

“Although I was thinking,” Kandi said, taking a meditative sip of her margarita, “maybe it should be margaritas and a mariachi band.”

And so it went, through dinner—Kandi floating along on a cloud of wedding plans, yammering endlessly about the invitations, the flowers, the musicians, the bridal gown. And, of course, the most important part of the wedding, the fiancé. I heard what an angel Steve was, how sweet, how kind, how caring. I heard how, unlike some men, he didn’t go screaming into the night at the thought of planning a wedding with his bride-to-be. Apparently, he was a good sport about the whole thing. In fact, that’s where he was tonight, with Armando, choosing his tuxedo.

“Really, Jaine, he doesn’t mind a bit when I talk about the wedding.”

I was glad he didn’t mind. It was all I could to do keep from dozing off into my refried beans.

“Oh, by the way,” Kandi said, “I almost forgot the reason why I wanted to see you. I ordered the most fabulous bridesmaid gowns!”

“Here,” she said, handing me the picture. “Armando and I decided to go with the traditional look. Isn’t it divine?”

Omigod. I took a desperate gulp of my margarita. It was a bridesmaid’s nightmare. Big puffy sleeves. Tiny pinched-in waist. And a billowing hip-enlarging skirt. All of it in a nauseating baby pink.

Kandi smiled eagerly. “It’s the Cinderella look.”