Disclaimer: Do I look like someone who owns The Incredibles? Is there a Brad-Bird-ish, Walt-Disney-Productions-like, or Pixar-Animation-Studios-esque air about me that makes you ask this question? If so, please disregard it.

"95.7 centimeters," said Edna Mode, removing her tape measure from Helen Wright's hips. "Congratulations, darling, you will have no trouble bearing children."

"E, refresh my memory," said Helen. "Why do we have to do all this over again? Don't you have my measurements left over from when you made my suit?"

"Precise measurements were never necessary with you, darling," said Edna. "Your powers necessitated that your suit be made of some highly malleable material, so it could adjust to your body's contours even if it was not designed perfectly to match them. Now, however, since you have decided that Flexo-Fiber is not adequate for your Most Special Day, our numbers must be more exact."

"Gotcha," said Helen.

"My God," muttered Edna. "Every piddling staff sergeant in the U.S. Navy gets married in uniform, and Elastigirl wants to wear a gown."

Helen was unable to entirely suppress a smile. "E," she said, "with all due respect, I was a six-year-old girl making wedding dresses out of toilet paper long before I was Elastigirl."

"And because your parents were not supers themselves, they did not know the dangers of adolescent fantasy for someone of your gifts," said Edna. "Yes, darling, I know. –Inseam, 101.7 centimeters."

"'Dangers'?" Helen demanded. "How can it be dangerous not to get married in costume?"

"Do you remember Yin and Yang?" Edna inquired.

Helen frowned. "Weren't they the twins in San Francisco?" she said. "She moved metal with her mind, he set things on fire?"

Edna nodded. "My first clients," she said with a faint smile.

Helen was mildly startled. She was aware that Edna had been Seamstress to the Gods (TM) for a good many years, but she had never realized just how far back she went.

"So what about them?" she said.

"When Yin got married," Edna informed her, "she, too, refused to wear her costume to the altar – and, in consequence, Yang also arrived in civilian clothes. Most of the guests, however, did show up in costume, and a certain nosy church janitor was therefore able to deduce who the bride and best man must have been."

Helen thought she saw where this story was going. "And thus was born…"

"The White Warlock," said Edna, pleased at Helen's quickness. "Scourge of the West Coast for nearly eight years, and would you like to know why, darling? Because he always planned his crimes for a day when he knew that Yin or Yang would be out of town."

"Well, that's not going to happen this time," said Helen.

"Oh, no?" said Edna.

"No," said Helen. "Meghann'll be there, remember? If anyone comes within three blocks of that church, he'll suddenly remember an important appointment and go scooting down the other way."

"I see," said Edna. "So you don't have to be Elastigirl, but Meghann has to be Psycwave."

"Well, it's my wedding," said Helen.

Edna arched an eyebrow, but said only, "Waist, 61.2 centimeters."

Helen gave her a look. "You think I'm immature, don't you?" she said.

"You shouldn't take it personally, darling," said Edna. "I have never known a superheroine your age who didn't need some sauciness knocked out of her. Another reason you should have children."

"E," said Helen, annoyed, "we've been over this. I'm not going to settle down and retire from the game just because I'm getting married. There's so many criminals and tyrants out there – I mean, I'd go crazy just sitting at home waiting for Bob and Lucius to take care of them."

"Of course, darling," said Edna. "Scootch down, would you please?"

Helen obligingly contracted her abdomen so Edna could reach her bustline. Edna took the final measurement (91.5 centimeters), scribbled it down on her clipboard, and was just putting her tape measure away when three loud knocks sounded on the outside of the dressing-room door.

"Behold!" called a man's voice. "The bridegroom cometh!"

"Ah," Edna muttered. "If it isn't Tuxedo Mask. Come in, Robert."

"Wait a minute, Edna," said Helen. "I'm not dressed yet."

"It's a sight he will have to get used to, darling," said Edna.

"Edna," said Helen, "if you let Bob in this room, I'm telling Kathy that we need to have bridesmaids."

Edna stared at her for a moment, then turned to the door. "You are marrying a very stubborn woman, Robert," she said.

"Don't I know it," said the voice outside.

Helen hastily threw on the sweater-skirt ensemble she had worn to Modenheim. "Okay, everything's covered now," she said. "Entrez, Monsieur."

Edna arched an eyebrow. "'Monsieur'?" she said. "'My lord'? Such a retrograde conception of the husband's role."

"You are enjoying this entirely…" Helen started, but was cut off as the Strongest Man Alive entered the room, lifted his fiancée off her feet, and planted a kiss on her lips.

"And how is my India-rubber beauty this evening?" he said.

Helen flushed hotly. "Bob!" she said. "Not in front of Edna!"

Instantly, Edna whipped off her glasses and started squinting at the ceiling. "What? What?" she said. "I see nothing!"

The two supers laughed, partially at Edna's response, but more out of simple, gleeful pleasure at being in each other's presence.

"So," said Helen to Bob, "how's the search coming? Did you manage to find a preacher who can keep his mouth shut?"

"Didn't need to, actually," said Bob. "Turns out Verdant Ray's an ordained minister in his spare time."

"No kidding?" Helen laughed. "You'd never know it to watch him in costume. All that stuff about his hydraulic force…"

Bob chuckled, and glanced at his watch. "Hmm, we'd better get going," he said. "I made those reservations under our civilian names, and if we don't show up, the restaurant may give our table to some lesser mortal, like Dwight D. Eisenhower. Bye, Edna."

"Have a pleasant evening, darlings," said Edna.

"Oh, come on," said Helen as the two of them went out the door. "If President Eisenhower showed up at the Chez LeBeau, you'd be the first one to offer him your table."

"Of course I would," said Bob, "but that's not the same as being told by some snotty maître d' that I have to. It's not the same if someone makes you do it."

"Well, all I know is…"

As the supers' voices faded into the distance, Edna replaced her glasses, went over to a nearby closet, and pulled out a bolt of fabric that looked, to the untutored eye, exactly like white satin, but that was sufficiently resilient for someone to empty a machine-gun clip onto it without harming the wearer.

"No sense in not taking some precautions, anyway," she muttered to herself. "Now, let me see, for a 61-centimeter waistline…"