The Proverbial Mother-of-the-Bride

Somewhere between dowdy, gray-haired old woman in a flowing and overly ornate moomoo in a questionable shade of cerulean or puce

and

a vampy, slit-up-to-here and plunge-down-to-there, attention-stealing, arrested-development, still-trying-to-look-as-young-as-my-daughter-the-BRIDE

there has to be the perfect look, right?

God, save the Queen.  And don’t make me have to shop too much.

 

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