Don Mills, Ont. : Red Dress Ink, 2002.
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In the space of a few hours, thirty-year-old Ginger Petrocelli had gone from bride-to-be to bride-who-never-was. So here she sat, alone in her cramped apartment, wedding crinolines askew, drowning her sorrows in a hundred-dollar bottle of Veuve Cliquot, when her doorbell rang. And her trip to hell in a handbasket was about to escalate.