My youngest sister is getting married. Green is her favorite color. I once picked her up at college for a quick bite to eat and she was covered head to toe in green - she looked like a walking lima bean. So, it's no surprise that green will be in her wedding colors.
Pair that with the knowledge that I will be the tallest member of the bridal party (not sure where I'll rank with the groom's side), and you have the recipe for the jolly green giant in the wedding. Also, matron of honor? Who thought that was a good title? I've jumped straight from flower girl to matron of honor. It's true I'm probably internally closer to an 80-year-old woman, but externally I'd like to keep the illusion that I'm in my twenties.
The only advantage is that it may make overpowering the other bridesmaids easier should they try to take me down (so long as my other sister is on my side). You think this is a joke? It was not so a few nights ago when my dreams led me inside a locker room, apparently below the area where the ceremony was to be held - I'm holding out that the wedding won't actually be in a gym, where the rest of the bridesmaids were waiting to shoot me with a small, hand-held, silver gun. That was no laughing matter - until I woke up. As a mammoth green-clad matron I should be able to defend myself against the frail twinkies of youth.
(Disclosure: I've not actually met a couple of the women in the bridal party, and I trust my sister's judgement that they are wonderful human beings (without criminal records). Dreams will be dreams. The jolly green giant matron of honor will be a reality.)