You know the saying "Always a bridesmaid, never a bride." Well, in my case it should be "Always a bridesmaid... in an ill-fitting and unflattering dress."

What happens to women when they get engaged? It's as if even the most stylish women lose their sense of fashion when it comes to choosing bridesmaid dresses. Is it some type of secret conspiracy so the bride can ensure that she'll be the most beautiful woman in the room? Will she really feel better about herself if she's surrounded by friends in fuscia satin potato sacks? I'm curious to know if a study has ever been done on this.

I have been a bridesmaid nine times — count 'em, nine — and I have never felt good about myself walking down the aisle. In fact, I have usually felt like I'm in some odd ceremonial costume parade.

The other night, my girlfriends and I sat around comparing horror stories. (Please note that these were "good" friends, not "best friends"; in other words, none of us had been in the others' wedding parties.) My all-time worst moment was when I was forced by the bridezilla of the moment to wear a lavender two-piece outfit that would have been okay, except we had to wear matching "donuts." Now, for those of you lucky enough not to know what a wearable donut is, let me clarify by saying that it is neither powdered nor iced. Rather, it is an apparatus similar to a flotation device that wraps around your neck and shoulders and fastens behind your back. What had I done to this girl to deserve this? Were we planning on jumping in the ocean after the ceremony? I was convinced that one of the photographers was going to tell us we were on Candid Camera.

My girlfriend Jeanine pulled out a doozy of a photo that featured her and two other unfortunate souls decked out in plaid shantung outfits. Who wears plaid from head to toe on a normal day? This bride clearly had self-esteem issues.

When my wedding day rolled around, I stopped and assessed my bridesmaid situation. I had five girls who didn't resemble each other in any way, shape or form. They ranged from short and busty to tall and boyish. How could one dress look good on everyone? It couldn't. So I told my bridesmaids to wear their own black dresses and called it a day. Everyone looked great, and nobody was tugging or moaning or rolling their eyes behind my back (not that I know of).

Luckily, I have reached an age where my friends have eliminated the bridesmaid parade altogether or have become secure enough with themselves that they don't feel it necessary to humiliate their beloved sisters (biological or otherwise). Instead it seems they are turning their attention to their children, and have begun dressing them in embarrassing outfits that will make them want to die 15 years from now. What happens to women with style when they have children? We'll save that one for another day...