Bridesmaid Revisited

'Chartreuse strapless chiffon," sighed one friend. "And dyed-to-match shoes that turned my feet green for a week." Six of us -- with 10 summers' worth of weddings beneath our crinolines -- were swapping bridesmaid war stories over dinner. As the night grew darker, tales emerged of bridesmaids spending hundreds on a magenta gown, only to have the bride decide she'd really prefer her attendants in yellow, of a bride who made her friends spend a Newport summer weekend indoors so they wouldn't "ruin" the marital photos with sunburns.

During these sordid tales, my friend Sophie, 34, sat toying with her pasta. "You know," she said finally. "I always feel guilty when I hear people griping about the horrors of being a bridesmaid. I've been one three times, and my experiences have been completely positive."

Mouths dropped open and wineglasses clattered to the table. Surely she was joking. How could a tradition practically designed to make grown women feel and act like middle school students (dressing in identical outfits, hairstyles, and makeup and taking orders from a queen bee) be entirely positive?

"I feel good when I'm asked to participate in a wedding," Sophie insisted. "It's like a sign that I have been a force of good in the development of the relationship."

"Well, sure," the rest of us murmured, a trifle shame-faced. "That's exactly the right attitude. We feel that way, too, of course," we said. "It's just that it's sometimes hard to hang on to those warm fuzzy feelings. Especially when you're wearing a maternity dress because someone in the lineup is pregnant. And even more especially when you've paid handsomely for the privilege. And did we mention the airline tickets, the shoes, the mandatory hair-salon visit?"

Then Sophie said that not only had she never been dressed like a human eggplant but that not one bride had ever dictated her wedding wear or "inconvenienced me at all." The three couples she's accompanied down the aisle also sought her opinion about her role in the wedding, which made her feel she was an integral part of their ceremony and of their lives.

As the novice of the group (I've attended just one bride), it occurred to me that the difference between a happy altar companion and a disgruntled one may be surprisingly straightforward -- if not always easy for stressed-out brides and grooms to achieve. It's the difference between couples who choose loved ones to be in their ceremony and then design roles accordingly and those who design roles and then choose people to fill them. It's the difference between feeling chosen for one's individual self and having one's individuality crushed under a mountain of hairspray and taffeta. It's the difference between being asked to participate and just being asked to take a part.

Of course, given the mandate for brides and grooms to please everyone from Great-Aunt Matilda (whose existence they were not aware of prior to the engagement) to the photographer's uninvited girlfriend while also having the time of their lives and avoiding permanent debt, it's perhaps not surprising that attendants' feelings sometimes end up on the back burner. But, interestingly, many see the bride-attendant relationship as a microcosm of the friendship, and are extra-aware of the things that have always driven them nuts about their friends and the things that have always given them those warm fuzzy feelings.

Take my friend Kate, a six-timer who has withstood a dozen cross-country flights, armfuls of pink dresses, and one bride who shrieked expletives on the morning of the wedding. When she marries this June, she'll have her sister as sole attendant and me as officiant, and both of us have been urged to wear whatever the heck we want.

Throughout the planning, I've been more aware than usual of Kate's generous spirit. And because she asks so little, I'm inspired to give much -- something I hope I'll remember if I become a bride myself.

Kate has confessed to one bridal fantasy: "I'd love a shower where all the girls I was a bridesmaid for had to show up in the dresses they made me wear to their weddings. It would be hilarious." Then she added quickly, "Of course, I'd never actually plan anything like that."

"Of course you wouldn't," I said, already mentally compiling the guest list. "What do you think your attendants are for?"

Alison Lobron teaches high school English in Concord. E-mail coupling@globe.com.