COMMENT:

I was never the type of little girl who dreamed of her wedding day. I had a vague idea that I'd one day get married, but the dress, the cake, the flowers and the venue were little more than hazy details. When my Barbie dolls married their beaus (and yes, beaus rather than belles, because of 1990s heteronormativity) I was less concerned about the trimmings than the various storylines of illicit intrigue that threatened the impending nuptials. The event itself was simply a necessary procedure to advance the plot.

Now, as a formerly (and in my defence, intentionally) chronically

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