The princess bride

Each summer my family ventures out into some remote corner of the earth in search of adventure, exposure and togetherness. We've mistakenly ordered raw ham in fancy Parisian bistros, ingested full glasses of rural Mexican water just to prove who was toughest, and made it just to the shoulder of the Statue of Liberty before the fear of heights fully set in. This summer, my parents gathered us four kids, along with various significant others, for what would be our greatest adventure yet: my sister's wedding.

Kristi, bless her heart, did all she could. She located a stellar groom, worthy of her heart and fireproof against the, uh, good-natured jokes and jabs of the rest of the peanut gallery. She followed her bridal book checklist to the letter. Date? Check. Location? Check. Groom? Check. We'd even found the dress on the first try — a remarkable feat considering Kristi typically takes several trial runs in various stores before committing to a single gray hooded sweatshirt. It was beautiful — antique white and lace.

The wedding drew closer. Flowers? Photographer? Vows? We suddenly realized that there might be more to this wedding than the cake tasting and bachelorette party.

I listened to my mom's end of the conversation as she tiptoed through the jungle of intricate wedding details. "Salsa lessons? Why do you need salsa lessons?"

She paused. "Ohhh . . . for the first dance . . . The first — wait! Kristi!"

The countdown began. Kristi, coincidentally '96, my favorite sibling minefield, has always been known for her delicate balance of strong will and good heart. The still strong varsity athlete in her is fierce, the high school history teacher part is all wit, and the big sister side is just tough enough to keep me in line. We all love her, even if she keeps her guardian angels a little too busy at times.

That said, I'm not sure which side of Kristi called me the night before her bridal portraits and said, "Um . . . Hi."

Sisterly intuition took over. "What did you do?" "Nothing," she said. "But . . . I fell in love."

I waited for her to continue. "I know I said I'd made up my mind but there I was on the street, and I just knew it was what I wanted."

"What are you going to tell Tim?" I asked. "Tim?" she replied. "It's mom who's going to freak out."

Turns out that Kristi, three months before her wedding, bought a second wedding dress off a rack in Boston, unaltered, and was flying home the next day for her portrait seating.

"Is it altered?" I asked.

"No."

Get the best of the ‘Prince’ delivered straight to your inbox. Subscribe now »

"Does it fit?"

"Mostly."

"Have you told mom?"

"Are you crazy?"

The next day, we schemed ways for her to break the news to our parents and two brothers, who would be waiting at baggage claim to whisk her away for makeup and hair before her moment in the bright lights. Kristi decided to save mom the heart attack and called her just as she got off the plane. Not enough time to panic, but just enough time to sit down so she wouldn't faint at the sight of my sister holding another massive white hanging bag.

The plan worked. Mom took Kristi to a local bridal shop to get the dress fitted. Frequent shoppers realize asking one store to alter another's creations is unheard of; it just doesn't happen. My sister argued that she had a fitting appointment, and the dress was merely an interchangeable part. Rhonda, our consultant, stood firm, "We don't alter other dresses. Store policy."

My mom spoke up in a voice showing that the effect of the second white dress bag had finally hit her. "She just showed up," she said. "With another dress." Rhonda sighed and got her sewing kit.

The wedding and bridal portraits went off without a hitch. Granted, my bridesmaid's dress had to be fitted at the last minute, and Kristi's wedding portraits carefully hide a large plastic clip holding up the 10-sizes-too-big. The other dress hung empty in the car.

Later, looking at the portraits, I wondered how my wedding might be different. My mom sighed, "you have to wait a while. I need a break from all this."

Kristi laughed, "It'll be easy for Ashley, mom. We already have the perfect dress for her." Ashley Johnson is an English major from Florence, Ala. Email her at ajohnson@princeton.edu.