One visitor thinks a wedding RSVP card is a prank as it requests all women to wear white. To steal the spotlight, the bride’s theatrical mom will wear a white gown. But the bride has an ingenious scheme to outwit her… everyone’s involved.

My wife, Sable, got the wedding invitation in the mail while I was on the porch.

It’s here! She fingered the envelope to reveal Micah and Rhea’s wedding invitation.

Sable raised her eyebrows reading the invitation. When she turned it over, her face went from inquisitive to perplexed.

You must see this.”

She gave me the RSVP.

The strangest invitation card I’d ever seen said, “LADIES — PLEASE WEAR WHITE, WEDDING DRESSES WELCOME!”

I stared at the words hoping they would normalize. “Is this a mistake or a challenge?”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” Sable added. “Everyone knows you don’t wear white to another’s wedding. Like Wedding Guest 101.”

My former Coast Guard friend Micah. We remained close after three years of service. He was practical, honest, and wouldn’t perform this prank.

But Rhea? Although I had only met her a few times, she appeared smart.

“I’m calling Chief,” I responded, taking my phone. Micah’s nickname persisted after we left the Army.

Micah answered after three rings. “What’s up?”

I just got your wedding invitation, Chief, and I have to ask—why the white dress? Are you having a themed wedding?

The silence was long. Micah talked with a weight I hadn’t heard since deployment. Heavy fatigue, not wedding-related.

“It’s Rhea’s mom,” he murmured, almost touching his head. “Verna. She’s… She’ll wear her old wedding dress to beat Rhea.”

She’s what now?

“You heard me. She did it previously. She wore a white outfit to Rhea’s bridal shower, criticized her venue choice to everyone, and threatened to accompany her down the aisle if her ex-husband didn’t ‘shape up’ for the ceremony.

My jaw fell. He said, “That’s crazy.”

“Yes, welcome to Verna’s world. This has plagued Rhea for months. Her parents planned this wedding dress stunt since we got engaged. She keeps saying she wants to show everyone a ‘real bride’.”

“What’s the plan? Everyone in white helps—how?

Micah’s tone improved.

He became brilliant. She thought why not let everyone shine if Verna was going to steal the show in a bridal gown? Verna can’t be alone if every woman wears white.”

I thought it was great. You’re in on this?

Whole guest list. The women, anyway. To beat Verna at her own game. But keeping it secret is crucial. Let her have her moment when she walks in, then drown it in white dresses, lace, and tiaras.”

When I hung up and told Sable, she practically choked on her coffee.

“You mean I can wear my wedding dress again?”

Her face lit up like a vacation morning. Jumping up, she hurried inside.

She was searching a storage box in the hall closet.

“Rhea’s a genius,” she said. “I haven’t been this excited about a wedding in years.”

Word spread quickly among guests. The women’s enthusiasm was contagious.

Photos of dusty dress bags and enthusiastic exclamation points filled group texts. Some borrowed dresses from friends, others bought them secondhand.

One cousin offered to wear her grandmother’s 1940s outfit.

Sable left our hotel restroom in her old satin gown the morning of the wedding. It was tight after all these years, but she shone.

The garment aged well.

“I hope she brings the drama,” Sable said. “I brought snacks.”

We arrived at chapel early.

The chapel buzzed with white cloth and frantic energy. In a bridal boutique, women danced in silk and lace like a flash mob.

Bridesmaids wore cream as planned. Rhea’s cousin found a long-veiled mermaid outfit.

Some wore elbow gloves.

“This is either going to be the best wedding ever or the most awkward,” I told Sable as the gathering grew.

“Why not both?” she grinned.

Micah and I stood at the front entryway like soldiers waiting for a grand entrance or a tantrum. Maybe both.

A shiny silver automobile arrived at the chapel at 2:47 p.m.

The tinted windows let me see activity and dazzling flashes. Micah tied his tie and looked at me, “Here we go.”

I must give Verna credit—she made an entrance.

Her white robe sparkled like diamond armor in the midday light. Her tiara was brighter than her grin, and her lengthy train might have spanned half the aisle.

Like someone who had planned this moment for months, she advanced confidently.

Troy, her quiet husband, straightened his tie and avoided eye contact like a hostage behind her.

He seemed polite when I met him at Rhea’s birthday party. He knew what was coming.

Micah grandly opened the door.

“Welcome,” he said, sounding overly pleasant. “Everyone’s inside.”

Verna entered with her head held high, ready for her moment of triumph.

She stopped cold.

Twenty wedding-gown-clad women faced her. Except for fabric rustling and organ music, the room was calm.

Verna’s expression froze between fury and perplexity. She opened and closed her flawlessly lipsticked mouth like a fish out of water.

At first, nobody moved.

Verna spoke up.

“What’s wrong with you?! White at someone else’s wedding?! This is embarrassing!”

Someone coughed nicely. Another woman slowly adjusted her veil. Silence spread like sweets.

Troy, bless his heart, chose that moment to cause problems or escape.

“But you’re wearing white too, honey,” he added.

Verna’s head turned toward him like a hawk at prey. “That’s different, dammit! I’m mom!”

The little room echoed the words. Someone’s phone buzzed as several women glanced. Nobody moved.

I noticed Verna’s expression change. She understood she was duped.

Her eyes searched the room again, taking in the sea of white dresses, the barely veiled smiles, and the perfectly orchestrated defiance. She must have known Rhea did this.

All at suddenly, her air vanished.

She didn’t collapse, scream, or throw the major tantrum I expected. The woman shrank. Like a balloon deflating.

As the chapel doors opened, music grew. Everyone looked toward the entryway for another white vision.

Rhea entered gorgeously in a deep crimson and gold gown with her dad.

She was dazzling and unreachable at her wedding, like a phoenix. Her expression was triumphant when the stained glass windows illuminated her gold dress thread.

Verna didn’t speak again at the event.

No tears, clapping, or reaction. She sat like an obstinate statue, her white outfit looking normal among the sea of prepared disobedience.

Verna remained silent while the chapel applauded the final vows.

She grabbed her train quickly and left before the cake was cut.

Troy paused, apologized to Rhea, and followed his wife into the parking lot.

The rest of us danced harder, laughed louder, and celebrated Rhea’s bloodless victory. Wedding receptions should be happy, rowdy, and full of people who want to celebrate love.

Later, I saw Rhea at the bar with champagne, her eyes glittering like her gown’s gold thread.

“That was some clever planning you did,” I said.

She grinned. “Revenge stories taught me well.”

Sable appeared alongside us, raising her glass. “To the bride!” Who knows when to wear crimson and stir things up.”