The bride, you see, MADE her wedding dress within a week of receiving her engagement ring. (I try to block out that this also followed by only a week the first moment she laid eyes on her groom.)

Why should I do less? I thought. After all, I made virtually every school dress and coat the child ever had, and taught her to sew over the telephone after she flew the nest and found out how much ready-to-wear costs.

So I consulted with Bonnie, a FOMOB whose skill with a needle is legendary in my circles and beyond. She showed me what she's working on, let me slide my hand over some scrumptious satin-backed crepe,

nodded sympathetically as I pointed to my anatomical geography to indicate what we need to cover here while emphasizing there.

I left her dining room/studio inspired and next day hied me off to The Pavilion to (a) see what's in the stores and (b) look at patterns.

No names here in case they advertise with this paper, but in one store, I had the distinct feeling I was in a flea market, complete with never mind. The small shops were hardly more appealing. The aural

warfare inflicted on shoppers by the young clerks' operation of the sound system drove me screaming silently from several premises.

(I swear this is the truth -- I distinctly heard this line in one caterwaul: "...Lying naked on the floor..." This is inspirational in a dress shop?)

Everywhere I looked, the prettiest outfits featured elegant jackets worn either over pants or over black dresses. Call me quaint, but I really think MOBs should wear skirts. And black makes a statement at a

wedding that I am not prepared to make, any misgivings I may have about the suddenness of this event notwithstanding.

Between dress shops, I paged through pattern books at WalMart. Somehow sketches of impossibly slender women in dresses that don't even exist appeal more to me than real, tangible dresses crushed together

on racks.

OK, I thought, I'll combine the skirt in a pattern Bonnie said she'd lend me with the top from another, and all I have to do now is find fabric not an easy task in this quality-dry-goods-forsaken county. But one

more stop first for possible inspiration: Belk.

And there it was. The Dress. A stunning royal blue, one-piece that appears to be a braided jacket over a full skirt. I picked up the only Size 12 there, stepped into the dressing room and when I zipped it up

and looked in the mirror, I almost cried.

It's perfect. I'm gorgeous in it. It fits better than anything I've ever made myself. Sleeves and skirt-lengths on ready-made are rarely long enough for me these were. I've even got shoes that will work. And it was

on sale.

Now all I have do is get one of my other FOMOBs to break the news to Viki. I haven't the heart.

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