"Mooooom," Sara whined. "Everything's fine, stop picking at me!"

"Well!" Amy Sidle said in a voice dripping with offended sarcasm. "I'm just so sorry. I can't imagine what came over me, to want to make sure my daughter looks her best before she leaves the store with her wedding dress. What kind of crazy mother am I?"

Sara rolled her eyes. "Fine. Sorry Mom, feel free to keep pinching and tugging, but I'm holding you accountable if you break something – on me or on the dress!" She turned back toward the mirror, unable to resist twitching the skirt a little despite what she'd just told her mother. "Are you guys really, really sure that this top isn't going to fall down?" she asked slightly desperately as she tugged at the bodice, which in fact hadn't moved an inch since she'd put the dress on.

"It'll be fine," Catherine said firmly, patting Sara's arm. "Your boobs aren't all that small now anyway. Uh, sorry Mrs. Sidle," she apologized quickly. "I was just trying to . . "

"I know, Catherine. Don't worry about me. You and I probably have more right to critique her chest at this point than anyone other than the baby. Oh!" she added as thought the thought had just struck her. "And how is the breastfeeding going, sweetie?"

"Mom!"

Mrs. Sidle couldn't help the laugh that bubbled out of her. "Oh, loosen up, Sara. I'm your mom, I had to do it for you, so it's only fair that you discuss it with me now that you're doing it."

Sara gritted her teeth. "You are an evil mother, is what you are," she teased. "Hey Cath – where are the shoes? I want to move down to other parts of my body before my mom starts asking more embarrassing questions."

Her mother only wiggled her eyebrows slightly. "So, how much did your ankles swell the last few months you were carrying Galina?" She laughed and took a step back when Sara tried to jump off the pedestal she had been balancing on to clap a hand over her mother's mouth. "Ok, fine. I'll ask you all those questions after we leave the store."

As if on cue, Catherine dramatically whisked open a shoebox to reveal a pair of satin ankle boots dyed to exactly match the platinum ribbon on Sara's dress.

Her mother hadn't seen the shoes before, and Sara nearly collapsed in a laughing fit at the look that crossed her face when the box was opened. "Oh my god, Mom, that was priceless! Nice one, Cath!" she giggled, reaching out to high-five her friend.

"Sara, please tell me these are a joke."

"Um, nope, sorry. I'm really wearing them. No one's going to be able to see anything but my toes anyway, so why not wear what I'm comfortable in? And think of it this way," she added with a smirk. "Now you won't have to worry about me falling off my high heels and embarrassing myself in front of the family."

Putting a theatrical hand to her forehead, Amy sank down on the nearest chair. "What did I do to deserve a kid like this, God? Is this my punishment for wearing tie-dye in the 60s?"

Sara snorted. "You know, it just might be. I've seen pictures of you and Dad, it was traumatizing!"

Catherine, who wanted to get home sometime before it was time to leave for work, waved a hand between the two grinning women. "Ok, ok, time's up. Save the bickering for the car ride home, ladies, because some of us have to be home to pick our children up from school in . . ." She paused to check her watch. "In one and a half hours." Clapping her hands together lightly, she added, "Chop chop!"

******************************************************************************************************************************

            Grissom sighed and unknotted the bowtie so he could take another shot at it. "Remind me, Warrick, why exactly you thought it imperative that none of us wear 'those cheap clip-on ties'?"

            Warrick, who had been working on Nick's bowtie, turned around with a laugh. "Because it's classy, Gris, remember? Do you want to be sitting with your daughter twenty years from now and have to explain to her that no, Daddy didn't bother with high-quality wedding gear, he just wore what was easiest?"

            Nick slapped Warrick's hand away from his neck and snorted. "Somehow, I doubt that Galya's going to care about that particular fact. I'm with Grissom; no one will even be able to tell if we're wearing tied ties or not!" Tugging at his collar, he added, "Besides, at least the fake ones didn't make me feel like I was choking."

            "Oh, suck it up, guys," Greg threw in from his nest of clothing in the corner. "If I'm not complaining about having to wear this getup, then neither of you should be either. Unlike me, you guys are at least used to wearing a tie every day!"

Nick and Warrick exchanged looks. "So, War, exactly when was the last time you wore a tie?"

"Chaunce trial," Warrick answered promptly. "And that was definitely a sucky day – not exactly a day you want to get used to."

"I'll say," Nick agreed with a sigh. "Not good for our necks and not good for Susan's nerves."

"Hey, yeah!" Greg exclaimed. "What's up with you two lovebirds, anyway? Sara told me you went to the movies with her last weekend," he singsonged.

Nick growled, but restrained himself from injuring the lab tech. "You better be glad you're wearing a freakin' expensive rental right now, Sanders, or else I'd smack you around some. Sue and I aren't any of your business, squirt!"

Grissom cleared his throat. "Can we attempt to get back to the subject at hand, please, boys? Warrick, come here and show me this again. I can do it on someone else, but I can't get the hang of doing it upside-down on myself."

Warrick patted Nick on the shoulder, ordered him to practice, and went to help Grissom. Meanwhile, Greg, who had somehow managed to dress and tie himself with absolutely no trouble, began to take off his layers of dress clothing while looking longingly at his baggy jeans, which were currently draped over a chair. "Nick," he said pleadingly, "promise me that when you get married, we all get to wear jeans?"

"Sure, Greg – if I haven't killed you by then."