Read My Big Fat Low-Fat Wedding Online

Authors: Katya Starkey

Tags: #Chick-Lit

My Big Fat Low-Fat Wedding (3 page)

BOOK: My Big Fat Low-Fat Wedding
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“You’ve got a lot of new stock in, Lolz.” I say, using the nickname she hates. She doesn’t complain about me saying Lolz anymore, but I’m still going to keep referring to her thusly. It’s funny mimicking text speak for lol. Especially because Lara is the opposite of lol with her occasional attitude problem.

“It’s not just stock,” Lara reprimands me. “Unlike aubergines and sacks of potatoes by the kilo, these are exquisite gowns made of the finest silk.”

Wandering past hanging dresses I run my hands along the fabric. “Or for chavs, made of cotton?” The dress I’m touching doesn’t feel soft as silk.

“Don’t be silly.” Lara smacks my hand away. “Now, let’s get you fitted into your gear first.”

“My gear?”

Lara leads me to the back dressing and changing area of the shop where she recently had faux cashmere wallpaper installed. Not only do I always feel the need to touch all the soft gowns in store, but now I just have to run my hands along the furry, pale walls. It’s so pretty back here. In such sharp contrast to Lara’s dark rocker chick style when she’s not at work.

Suddenly, I spot something that gives me the creeps.

There’s a robot standing off to the side of the two changing rooms.

“You got a device from Oliver?”

Lara’s reply is muffed as she’s turned away from me, going through shelves of strange strappy pieces of nude coloured fabrics. “Yes I did. That little guy is massively helpful.” Dropping her supplies she strides over to the robot.

This particular model is shaped like a large wedding bell. It’s pristine white and there are fancy lace swirls all over the beeping machine.

“Watch this.” Lara presses the screen of her phone. “I can control it starting up with an app.”

The robot comes to life. I don’t know where it fit all the sewing machines and surgers that come shifting out of large drawers and tables attached to the robot itself.

“Wow,” I gasp. “That is pretty amazing.”

“Yeah, it’s got every kind of sewing machine and tools I could ever need. And check this…” Lara slides her finger across the face of her phone and the bridal robot starts steaming. Yet another table like platform pops open on its face. “It makes tea!” Lara exclaims.

I’m dubious. “You got it from Oliver though.”

Lara doesn’t just ignore my statement, which is telling. I’m sure she doesn’t trust the guy either. She’s frowning deeply now. “Yeah well, it’s about the device, not the person who made it. I really couldn’t function without Bridey here.”

Bridey? “You named the robot?”

Lara shrugs her shoulders. “Sure I did, and why not?”

“I don’t know. Those things are as creepy as Oliver as far as I’m concerned.”

“Never mind.” Lara takes the steaming cup of tea from Bridey the robot’s extended tray and gives it to me. She punches her finger onto her phone a few times and all the sewing machines and kettle service disappear back into the robot until it once again resembles a large lace covered bell. “Let’s get you fitted into the dress of your dreams, shall we?”

“I take a sip of the robot made tea. “That’s fairly all right.”

Lara shuffles back to the shelves on the opposite wall. “Don’t drink too much of that. You don’t want an expanded belly if you’re going to fit into these.”

Turning, I look at the scraps of neutral fabric she’s holding. “I’m going to fit into a scarf?”

“These aren’t scarves, Em. They’re control underwear.”

“You’re having a laugh!”

But no. Despite my outburst Lara is being serious. I know this because she’s now wearing her serious face mask, which is a very scowling look indeed.

After much grunting, twisting and sucking in of gut, I’ve finally managed to squeeze myself into what Lara calls ‘control underwear’, or as I like to call them ‘torture devices’. I’m positively gasping being squashed into these tight nude coloured pieces of fabric. When I turn and look into the mirror of the changing room I’m not reassured in any way whatsoever.

“Oh for fuck sake.”

“Something the matter?” Lara knocks on the door. “I’m coming in to adjust you now.”

I don’t respond immediately as Lara comes inside the large dressing room. I really don’t know what to do or say at this point because I’m gobsmacked by my reflection in the mirror.

“I look like a sock that’s been stuffed with wonky potatoes.”

Lara purses her lips as though she’s irritated. “Don’t be daft, you look smoothed out.”

Glancing over my shoulder at her in the mirror, my face turns as scowling as her’s. “Smoothed out and squashed. I’ve already had my ribs nearly broken by a sports bra, Lolz, I really don’t need to end up…”

Oops. Almost just admitted that I went to hospital today. I definitely don’t want to be revealing such an error to Lara. If I did so I’d never hear the end of it. She’d tease me about my false heart attack for the rest of my life.

“… I’m just feeling strangled.” I finish my sentence. A statement that is very true. My boobs are being thrust upwards by whatever this body sock is that I seem to be wearing. It’s giving me a cleavage that nearly reaches my chin. I’m positively gagging on my breasts, even if it is in an external manner!

And the rest of me is indeed smoothed out like Lara said. Only it’s all wrong. My curves have gone to be replaced by a streamlined torso that does nothing but exacerbate the problems of my fat arms and legs. Before squeezing myself into these control underwear I really thought my arm shapes were okay. I could see a bit of muscle on the outer sides of my shoulders that would lie under a reasonable layer of chub. Now though, I’ve got chicken wings poking out under my armpits and I shudder to think what I’d see if I turned around and looked into the mirror.

I’m pretty sure there would be back-boobs. Okay so they’d be flattened out back boobs under incredible pressure from these control underwear, but I’d know they were there, and knowing is a slippery slope into madness…

“Hello? Emily?” I snap back into reality, and tear my eyes away from my horrible reflection, when Lara starts clicking her fingers in front of my face. “You do realise that being a bride means being uncomfortable for one day.”

“But I don’t want to.”

If it’s possible, Lara’s scowling face goes even scowlier when she squints her eyes. “You know what they say, Em. No pain no gain.”

Pain? I’m supposed to endure being in pain on my wedding day, just so I can look good? I don’t even think I look that great to be honest, quite the opposite. But I suppose if it’s Lara telling me what’s necessary for a bride to be wearing under her wedding dress, she’d be the one who knows.

Deflating with a loud sigh I’m surprised when I’m unable to slump my shoulders in relenting despair. These control underwear won’t let me slouch even an inch.

I follow Lara out of the dressing room feeling stiff as a robot. No wonder bride’s all walk so bolt upright down the aisle, they don’t have sticks shoved up their arses, oh no, they’re held upright by something far worse…

I’ve decided control underwear are now the bane of my existence, the most horrible things invented for women since the corset.

“Now,” Lara says, nearing me with arms full of tulle that’s otherwise known as a bridal gown. “Let’s get this corseted gown on you, shall we.”

Oh dear me please no.

For the next hour Lara continues to shove my physical form into tight wedding dress after tight wedding dress. She expertly laces me up the back of each gown and by the time I get home I’m feeling positively bruised and abused.

Sniffing loudly, I crawl into bed with an already sleeping Callum. I don’t want to wake him up really, but if my bed bouncing tactics should accidentally wake him I won’t be feeling guilty. I could use a bit of sympathy right now.

“Who knew being a bride at my weight would be such a painful experience.” I meant to whisper, but my outburst sounds more like a whinging sob.

“Poor you.” Callum rolls over.

“Oh sorry, hun. Did I wake you?” Cuddling into my fiancé’s arms I feel a pang of guilt at actually having woken him.

“Don’t worry about it, my darling.” Callum coos into my neck. “You’ve had a hard day and you’ll need your rest for tomorrow.”

I suppose my beloved is right, the cafe needs opening up for breakfast goers in the morning anyway. I do feel very tired right now as well. My body is probably capable of going into a prompt coma after today’s squashing fiascos.

As I drift off to sleep I think I hear Callum utter something inexplicable. “Mum wants to help with the wedding plans.”

So tired… falling asleep.

He couldn’t have just said what I think he did, because as far as I’m concerned, Callum’s mum isn’t even invited to our wedding.

 

Chapter 3

 

Okay so maybe last night’s thoughts about Callum’s mum not being invited to the wedding were a bit harsh, but the woman does my head in. Of course she’s coming to the wedding, but that’s it. She’s not to know about our impending nuptials until she gets her invitation in the post. Callum knows how I feel about this issue. He simply wouldn’t have told his mother about our engagement when I’ve explicitly forbid such a thing.

I’m not being overly harsh here either. It’s for the benefit of her as well as me. Callum’s mum is in her sixties, she might develop heart failure if she were ever to become involved in the stressors of wedding plans. And wow do I know how much she’d want to be involved. See, the thing is, Mrs Stephenson is a widow. Her husband died ten years before I ever even met Callum. My fiancé’s dad died of heart failure, and ever since, Brenda Stephenson has been involved in, and obsessed with, her son’s life. As a matter of fact I was surprised yesterday when my phone didn’t go off once with a message from Brenda. She usually texts me around lunch time on weekdays if she can’t get hold of Callum while he’s on his lunch break, just to make sure he’s at least gone for a walk to get exercise.

Yes, of all the soon-to-be-mother-in-laws in the world, the one I’m about to be endowed with is a sixty year old personal trainer.

As I open up my little cafe for the morning I know I’m fooling myself. Callum’s mum would never suffer heart failure. She’s much too fit for a woman of her age. She made herself über healthy after her husband’s death. Callum has said as much to me. Every time I try to approach the subject of his mum’s attentions, he sort of waves me off. Not to mention the fact that he doesn’t like to talk about his father at all, but I’m sure he’ll be much more open with me after we’re married.

“Anika?” I’m astounded as I turn the door handle. “What are you doing here so early?” I ask my assistant chef who turns round as I enter the kitchen area at the back of the cafe. Anika is from Hungary and I think she’s close to Zumba Kirsten’s young age. She moved here with her boyfriend a year ago —only to be left by him and all their credit card bills— just a couple of months later. I kept her on. Of course I did! I also let her rent out the studio flat above the cafe. She’s such a diligent cook, but I do worry about her social life. The girl doesn’t seem to have any friends and I keep encouraging her to check with the local college, just to see if there’s any short courses of interest she could take.

I think she’s too shy to go on her own, so today I’m determined to take her there myself.

“I wanted to give you stupendous surprise.” Anika smiles. She’s a smart girl whose motto it is to repeat a newly learned English word of the day. Today’s gem must be: stupendous, as she looks quite pleased with herself. This is why I know she’d have a great time at the local college. Her short cropped black hair is clipped back at the brow and she dusts her hands free of flour onto her apron. “Come this way please, boss lady.”

Rolling my eyes, I follow her through to the rear office. “I told you not to call me that.” Secretly, I think Anika knows how proud I am of my own business, so I never really protest too much when she refers to me as her boss lady. It gives me a little motivational boost whenever I see her.

“Here is your stupendous surprise.” She steps aside and does indeed reveal something utterly stupefying.

Smacking my forehead I drag my hand down my face. “Don’t tell me,” I grumble. “Oliver was here.”

“Yes!” Anika enthuses. “He showed me wonderful and stupendous things this robot can do!”

Oh dear. Oh dearie me. I don’t think I like the looks of this robot one little bit. The black square chunk of metal resembles a large oven. I don’t know how I failed not to notice it as soon as we entered the office. I suppose I must have subconsciously thought the hulking dark object was a big new filing cabinet.

BOOK: My Big Fat Low-Fat Wedding
12.6Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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