My Big Fat Low-Fat Wedding (15 page)

“Careful!” One of the guys shouts as another grabs me under my armpits.

“I’ve got you!” He bellows while the other four ladies in the room all back away whimpering.

Lad number one bends down and yanks my trousers off. It’s at this point I’m not thinking about how embarrassed I could be during such inappropriate nudity on my part. I’m not even thinking very deeply about the burns that my legs might be suffering. No, what I’m most concerned about for some stupid reason is that I’m grateful I never did purchase those super-skinny jeans. If I had done this awkward situation might have been entirely more catastrophic.

As it is though, the young man is able to get my trousers off quick as a flash, which is something I never thought I’d be able to witness another man —apart from my fiancé— ever doing for the rest of my life.

“I know first aid!” Ian —the person who’s holding me up under my arms— bellows.

“So do I!” Well, of course I do, I’m a certified chef for chrisake. Although, considering the disastrous unfolding circumstances, you wouldn’t think I’m certified in anything other than being a professional berk.

“I know first aid too!” Michael, the man who’s just whipped off my jeans proclaims. He throws down said denims and proceeds to grab my ankles. “We have to get running cold water on her burns!”

“Agreed!” Ian shouts and I’m wondering if these two are members of the territorial army that’s currently recruiting in town.

“Woooooo!” I holler as I’m scooped up whilst pantless by two strong men, neither of whom are the man I’m engaged to. I’m so beyond mortified at this point I can’t even feel any burning sensations where the hot oil spilled onto my legs.

“Be careful, lads,” Dotty whimpers from the corner of the room where she’s standing with the other terrified ladies. “Don’t you two go slipping in that oily mess!”

I’m dumped onto the countertop next to the sink and Michael whips on the tap hose. He douses down my shins and now I feel a bit of stinging. I can see that the flesh of my skin is reddened a bit upon my calves.

“Thanks, Michael.” Leaning away, I pull out of Ian’s grasp. “I’ll take it from here.” I grab the spray tap from Michael without looking him in the eye. “Class is dismissed.”

“I beg your pardon?” Michael leans his head nearer making his face come way to close to my bare legs.

“I said class is dismissed!” I don’t know how else to react other than by barking orders. I want everyone in this room to clear out right this minute! “Sorry, Ian… Michael.” I blurt. “If I’m going to hose down my burnt legs I really don’t want everyone staring at me while I do so!”

I think I’ve just managed to embarrass everyone in the vicinity. The ladies in the corner all skitter towards the door and vacate the room immediately. “I’ll telephone for an ambulance!” I hear Dotty shout from the corridor.

“Tell her she should do no such thing!” I yell to Michael and Ian as they leave me to wallow alone in my burnt leg spritzing sorrow.

Soon, male voices approach and for a second I think it’s the only two men in the class returning. The sink I’ve got my feet tucked into faces away from the corridor. I should have remembered to tell someone to shut the bloody door on their way out.

“Go away!” I shout as the voices near.

“We’re here to help,” One of the men says. “Oh jesus.” I hear him add despondently.

I have a bad feeling that voice doesn’t belong to either Ian or Michael. Craning my head around as far as it will go without snapping my neck, I’m inclined to agree with the new arrival’s latter statement. “Oh jesus, Ben. Why did it have to be you?”

I should have known this would happen. It’s just my luck that this particular paramedic happened to be on duty today.

“I’ll take it from here, Luke.” Ben has a quick chat with his paramedic partner. “It’s only a three per cent burn incident.”

Turning back around I huff exasperatedly onto my bare knees. I’m still sat on the countertop with my feet in the sink as cold water pours over the oil burnt patches on my shins.

Ben approaches me, but he’s not alone like I thought he’d be after his partner left. “Get that thing away from me!” I screech as a black and white robot —shaped like a dome— comes floating nearer.

“Emily, relax—”

“Don’t tell me to relax!” I shout and cower away, scooting on my bum until it collides with a toaster. “Just get it out of here. I’m serious!”

“Okay, all right.” He holds up his hands in surrender and barks some orders at the floating bot.

After it leaves. I’m still in a shouty mood. ““Shut the door!” I yell for good measure. Ben obliges me then walks back over to get a good long look at my exposed legs. Despite the fact he’s a paramedic who’s seen worse, I’m so not comfortable having my cousin’s stripper boyfriend stare at my personage like this.

Maybe it’s karma though. I’ve seen him nearly naked whilst grinding up on me. Perhaps I owe him a show.

Oh stop it! My brain screams at me. As if this situation isn’t awkward enough, why do my thoughts always have to wander so annoyingly?

Ben patches up the pink spots on my legs. “I’m sure the doctors will tell you this is an upper dermas burn, so it won’t leave any scarring.”

Silence ensues.

I don’t know what to say to this man who the last time I saw him was under rather compromising circumstances.

“ThanksfornottellingNicola!” Ben blurts at the same time I mumble, “Ididn’tsayanythingtoNicola!”

Well, so much for easing an awkward situation. This is getting worse by the second.

Sighing loudly, I hop down off the counter with my newly bandaged legs. “It’s not my place to tell Nicola anything.” I’m not about to mention the thing in question. We both know perfectly well that he flaunted his willy all nilly like in my face. There’s no need to verbalise it and bring it out into the open again. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t think you shouldn’t tell her. She has a right to know about her boyfriend’s other job… Jobs?”

I stuff my leg into my jeans carefully so as not to shift the bandages.

“That’s my only other job, Emily.” Ben clears his throat. “And it’s just a job, not a lifestyle like in that Magic Mike film. Not that I’ve seen Magic Mike. What bloke would—”

“You’re rambling.”

“You’re right.” Turning, Ben strides away and opens the door. “Let’s get you to the hospital.”

“I’d rather not.”

In response to my statement my cousin’s paramedic stripper boyfriend shakes his head. “You and Nicola are definitely related.”

“What do you mean?”

“Never mind,” he says, huffing out an exasperated sigh. “It’s just… you two must really hate hospitals.”

***

It’s not that I hate hospitals, it’s just that I don’t want to show my face at my nearest health institution due to the fact that the medical staff probably consider me a fake heart-attack hypochondriac. But I wasn’t about to tell Ben that. I’d left the cookery class on my own two minimally scalded legs, and not in an ambulance. I remember my cousin Nicola telling me that’s basically how her and Ben met. She’d had ambulance incidents with him on many occasions, which I think is quite funny considering how she’s always calling me a klutz. As far as I’m concerned it’s my dear cousin who’s the accident prone one in the family.

As I walk along the pavement now I can’t help feeling doubly sorry for Nicola. I should just come out with it and tell her that Ben rubbed up on me. I for one would want to know if my Callum was running around gyrating his crotch into women’s faces after completely stripping down.

It’s decided then. If Ben doesn’t confess to Nicola soon. I’ll tell her myself.

After leaving the college I run home and grab a parcel that needs returning. Then, I reach the post office and am depressed to find a long queue of customers that I have to wait behind. I bought a top online a few days ago and when it arrived in the post I had quickly tried it on. I’d also instantly hated the fit of the thing, so here I am finally having budged up to the front of the line. Well, I’m second in the queue at long last.

“You don’t usually come in today, Margaret.” The postal worker behind the glass partition speaks loudly to the OAP whose at the window in front of me.

“Beg pardon?” I hear the Old Age Pensioner, Margaret, when she replies.

The postal woman has to repeat her statement even louder. “I said you’re not normally in until tomorrow, darling!”

“Oh!” Margaret exclaims wildly, causing her head of cotton ball white hair to bounce. “I’m doing a bit of retail therapy with my dear friend Alice today.”

Ah, so she’s a woman after my own materialistic heart, no matter her older age in comparison to my youthful one.

“Actually,” Margaret coos happily with her old lady wobbly voice. “I only ever intend to do a bit of window shopping you know. By the end of the day though I always end up buying something I don’t need!”

The postal woman nods knowingly from behind the dividing glass. I nod knowingly myself and look at the parcel in my hand. Sighing loudly I despair at Margaret’s words knowing full well that I’m here today returning something I never needed to purchase in the first place. I guess it seems we as women are destined to impulse-buy for the rest of our lives.

***

As I’m leaving the post office after returning the ill-fitting top, I’m feeling depressed about my body shape. Things always seem to go wrong whenever I order something off the internet.

“Never again,” I mumble to myself and turn the corner. “Oops, sorry!” I nearly crash into someone who’s in a big hurry. Turning, I’m curious as to why I was the only one to apologise. I’m too late though, all I see is a head of blonde hair rushing away around the corner. A blonde head of short hair that I’m positive belonged to Thomas; the lifeguard boy from the Meli Spa.

I swear that kid has started stalking me. I only mentioned it lightly to Callum before, but as I stomp along the pavement I’m positively seething. Maybe I need to think about hiring a lawyer to file some kind of restraining order against that boy.

“Emily! Hello!” I’m so busy with my internal thoughts of court appearances I don’t notice when I nearly crash into my second person of the day.

“I haven’t seen you at my sweet shop in ages, darling.” Isabella pushes back her stunning wavy auburn hair from her shoulders. “I’ve ordered loads of new goodies from America, come have a look see!”

I’m helpless to object going anywhere but with this forceful woman. It’s not that I’m being forced into a candy store because Isabella is bigger than me, even though she is. The woman stands at five foot ten when she’s not wearing heels, which just so happens to be what she does in fact have on her feet today. It’s just that I’m being coerced into a sweet shop and I’m not at all sure it’s against my will.

The scent of sugar rams up my nostrils as soon as we enter the store. I really haven’t been here in ages. The sugar rush goes to my head with a mere whiff of the sweetened air.

“Look,” Isabella coos, lifting a jar from a shelf. “I’ve got Fluff.” She does indeed have marshmallow cream. The woman must love the stuff because she’s literally stroking the container. “I’ll bet you could invent a wonderful fruit dip with this stuff, Emily.” She hands me the jar. “Here, have this one for free and whip up a dip for me, yeah?”

I take the container from her. I can already taste the marshmallow flavour just looking at the contents inside. I’m already imaging the perfect fruit dip recipe in my mind. “I’ll do it.” I admit to Isabella. “And I’ll also have some pick and mix.” I’m feeling down right depressed about the top I just returned at the post office because it was too small. Nothing I do seems to work! I can’t stay on a diet for the life of me and I’m just not losing weight fast enough.

There’s nothing for it, really. It couldn’t hurt going off my diet for just one day anyway.

“That’s the spirit!” Isabella whips a paper bag through the air, opening it with a resounding crack that punches the air next to my face. “Here you are, pick your mix of sweets to your hearts’ content.”

She hands me the bag and I turn to the wall made of pure sugar. Sugary sweets in clear containers with flaps and shovels stuffed inside. There are so many colours, so many different kinds of chocolates. I was even thinking luxurious chocolates for a minute there, but let’s face it, this isn’t an authentic Swiss choc factory. It’s a candy store that’s rammed with sickeningly sweet products made mostly of hardened jelly. Sweets that appeal to children.