Cori, my wife’s matron of honor, had collected business cards from her own wedding planning process. Cori is the sort of person who agonizes over every decision and probably interviewed two dozen photographers for her own wedding. She probably arranged to meet them at the local coffeeshop—she’s never anywhere else on Saturday afternoons—and went through all of their portfolios twice.

Wendy looked through the cards (alphabetically organized in plastic sleeves in a binder) and stopped halfway through. “Her,” she said, pointing to the card with soles of feet across the top—a family of feet, big and little.