The Mother-in-Law Wore White And Called It "Oyster"

She sent the photograph to the family group chat three weeks before, with the caption "Found something!" and eleven people liked it and nobody said anything, because she is that kind of woman and we are that kind of family.

It was white. Not cream, not ivory, not "champagne". White, floor-length, with a small train — a TRAIN — and a lace panel at the back.

She called it oyster.

My sister, the bride, cried for about ten minutes, and then she did something I have never been prouder of.

She replied to the group chat: "That's beautiful, Margaret. See you there."

And then she rang the venue and changed one thing.

On the day, at the door, every guest was handed a small paper fan, cream, with the couple's names printed on it, as a favour. Lovely. Traditional. Nothing strange about it at all.

Except that the bridal party — eight women, plus my sister — were all in white. All of them. Full length. Simple, cheap, ordered in a panic from three different shops, and utterly, deliberately identical in colour.