Mariah

I always thought dress shopping was supposed to be this magical, sparkly girl-movie moment — twirling, giggling, trying on gowns like princesses in a montage with glitter falling from the ceiling.

Instead?

It felt like getting slapped across the face by the fashion industry every five minutes.

Hard.

Jessa and I had been in the mall for two and a half hours, and I was one bad zipper away from fighting a mannequin.

“I swear,” I muttered, arms crossed as I glared at ...