Doreen and Nora's FRASIER


By Nora Salisbury

Roz was feeling a bit of anxiety over her approaching duty as Daphne’s maid of honor, when the spunky lass from Manchester would trade Moon for Crane. She was thrilled for both of them, of course, but her years-long battle with hideous bridesmaid dresses was keeping her up nights. Maybe she’d get lucky, she thought, and Niles’ good taste would win out, but she also remembered the poofy-sleeved monstrosity Daphne had picked when she was going to marry Donny. She knew that if Daphne was determined, Niles would never say no to her.

Roz considered her options as she and Martin got back from taking Eddie and Ariel to their doggy group. Perhaps if she confided her fears to Martin, he could find a way to drop hints here and there. He was pretty slick, something she’d never have guessed by his sons.

Maybe it skips a generation, she joked to herself. "Hey, Marty," she said coyly, "have Niles and Daphne let you in on any of the wedding preparations? I want to know what kind of ... shoes to get to go with the bridesmaid dress, but Daph won’t let on." Marty smiled with satisfaction.

"Well, since you’re in a bind, I’ll let you in on a little secret," he said mysteriously. Roz held her breath and crossed her fingers. "They couldn’t decide between themselves," Marty explained, "so they asked me to pick the design." Roz suddenly felt uneasy. "I had these made special," Marty beamed.

He held up a horrific dress, fashioned by crocheting together panels cut from aluminum cans. Beer cans. Ballantine’s beer cans. Roz shuddered.

"Oh my GAWD! My Grandmother had a toilet paper roll cozy made the same way! Tacky doesn’t begin to cover it. You REALLY expect me to be seen in public in Frankenstein’s frock?!" She was dumbfounded. Marty, for his part, seemed oblivious to her comments. In a blink, she found herself wearing the God-awful thing. It was even more uncomfortable than it was ugly, if that was possible. Marty actually looked at her admiringly, What, is he drunk? Roz thought.

"The best part is," Marty chimed in, "they don’t make Ballantine’s anymore, so these’ll end up bein’ collector’s items!"

Roz awoke, screaming and pulling the covers off her, trying to extricate her body from the yarn and metal nightmare. She had never been so relieved to find herself alone in bed in her life.



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