My Big Fat Low-Fat Wedding

chapter 13



It’s not often I feel deserving of a glass of wine in the afternoon. Today just so happens to be one of those days. I’m trying to keep my weight loss in check though, so not just any high calorie wine will do. I head to Morrisons on my way home. Once there I pick up a bottle of Weight Watchers red. Diet wine at its finest. The stuff honestly doesn’t taste half bad.

And so, with bottle in arm, some diet crisps in hand and a pretty pile of hair on my head, I drive myself home. Once there I carefully seat myself at the kitchen counter upon one of our art deco high stools. I pour myself a glass of diet wine and slide my finger across the face of my mini tablet PC. Opening the packet of diet snacks I log into Facebook and scroll down my timeline, sharing signs and pics as I go, commenting here and there on funny status updates.

I follow loads of bridal Facebook pages so it comes as no surprise when I start seeing a lot of updo hairstyles. None of which are quite as lovely as Tina had managed to make my own hair, eventually. Even the low percentage of alcohol content in my glass of diet wine is starting to have a nice effect on numbing my pained scalp.

When I’m feeling slightly tipsy I decide to show these Facebook peeps what a real bridal updo should look like. I select the camera app on the tablet device and aim the camera option at my head, so that I can see myself on the screen.

Tina really did a bang up job with gentle hands. The curls that are pinned up on my crown aren’t tight at all, they’re more like subtle flowing waves of golden blonde swirls. She topped off my do with small silver flower beads that perch upon my hair like a delicate floating candle alight in fragrant bathwater.

“See how lovely?” I start speaking into the video I’ve just started recording. “This is the fine work of Tina at her salon. I’ll post a link to her location on this mini vlog.”

Quickly, I upload my short movie to YouTube. Sometimes I do wish I knew how to edit my videos and add in music and stuff, but really I just can’t be bothered to learn such a time consuming thing. Besides, sitting around isn’t good for a bride to be who wants to lose weight. I need to stay on my feet! Which is rich, coming from my conscience, as I continue to sit here imbibing wine.

When I’ve shared my hair video on Facebook I get quite a few likes and comments. The feedback is making me super excited for our upcoming wedding. Now that I’ve actually managed to lose some weight I can stay on track and keep up with workouts.

I’ve got my wedding hair style sorted and soon I’ll find my dream dress at Lara’s bridal shop. Well, I will find something I like even if it means her bringing the dresses to me. I’m avoiding robots everywhere at any cost.

Come to think of it, I haven’t really had to do much bot avoiding lately. Paige had kept her ladder robot in the storeroom of her health food shop. Tina had kept her bot to herself in her office at the salon.

Just as I’m pondering this, the very woman whose bridal bot I’m thinking about avoiding, comes online. I open a little chat window in Facebook and connect with Lara.

Me: What are your plans for the rest of the day?

Lara: I think I just ate a bug.

Me: Why do you think that?

Lara: Well, there was a bug on the table and it’s not there anymore.

Me: Oh right, so the only possible explanation is that you ate it?

Lara: I was eating cashew nuts and one of them tasted… a little off.

Me: Do you mean OFF like it was a burnt nut, or OFF like it was a bunch of guts and bile encased in an exoskeleton?

Lara: The second one.

Me: Then I would say you definitely did eat a bug.

Lara: What are your plans for the day?

Me: Pardon?

Lara: You asked what I’m doing for the rest of the day.

Me: Oh, nothing.

Lara: You were going to ask me to do something with you, weren’t you?

Me: Yeah, but I’ve changed my mind.

Lara: You don’t want to hook up with me because I ate a bug. That’s it, isn’t it?

Me: Well, I’m not proud of it, but yes. That is it.

Lara: Don’t be a silly cow. What did you want to do today?

Me: I was wondering if you got the new bridal dresses in yet.

Lara: Oh that. I haven’t, sorry.

Me: See? So we won’t be hooking up anyway.

Lara: Yeah, I’ll text you when the dresses are in. I’ve got to go now. Bye!!! xxx

Me: Hugs!!! Bye!!! xxx

Why do we always overdo it with the exclamation marks when text communicating? I know for a fact that I’m not nearly as boisterous face to face as so many online exclaimings might suggest. Although, I can see a plethora of anxious punctuation when I turn to inspect the open packet of diet snacks. I think I’ll just stick to wine. I don’t want to end up accidentally eating a bug.

Giving my Facebook timeline one last scroll through, I’m about to log off when a status update catches my attention. It’s a link under one of the local bridal pages I follow. Apparently a journalist for the local newspaper needs curvy women of a certain weight to take part in a photoshoot today. What’s funny is that the weight listed just so happens to be the exact weight that I weigh! On the status update I comment about this fact.

I’m just about to log off for good when a response comment pops up immediately. I’ve been asked to email my local newspaper. Taking another sip of my diet wine I figure it couldn’t hurt, so I whisk off a quick email message just before logging off Facebook.

***



After finishing my glass of wine I decide to eat the diet snack. I open the packet and eat the bits one by one, making sure to keep my eye on each piece. Also, I can’t help but glance around the kitchen for any hanging spiders. I wouldn’t want a creepy crawly to surprise me by falling into my packet of diet snacks. I might eat it like Lara and her bug chomping disaster. Unlike her though, I definitely wouldn’t be able to keep calm and carry one. The mere thought of eating an insect makes me gag and I have to put down the munchies I’m chewing on.

I really don’t know how the I’m a Celebrity Get Me Out of Here celebrities do it.

Ping.

My iPhone alerts me to the fact that I have a new incoming email message. When I check it I discover it’s a response from the local newspaper. A rapid response as well. It’s about the Facebook status update I’d commented on and wow did they get back to me quick.

I scroll down past my own message. The woman who replied to me is called Naomi and judging by her message she seems lovely. The email states that they are indeed looking for curvy women, who are thinking about losing weight, to take part in a photoshoot that’s being printed tomorrow!

Oh my that’s soon.

I’ve been asked to send in a full length body shot of myself. I don’t even know if I own such a thing. Normally when I take snaps of myself it’s only images of my head taken from a certain angle to make my jawline look sharper. Also, I Instagram-effects the hell out of pics that I know I’m going to put on Facebook or Twitter.

Well, I guess I could whip out the old camera and tripod. It’s the only way I’m going to get a full body shot of myself as Callum isn’t here to snap any photos of me.

I figure I don’t have anything to lose by sending in my picture. If anything they’ll get an eyeful of my glamorous bridal hair. Oh but my makeup leaves much to be desired. It’s not like I’ve got a lot of time to slap on tonnes of slap though. If this photoshoot is tomorrow they’ll probably want a photo of me as quickly as possible. But if I rush around I know my face is going to get sweaty and then my picture will come out looking shiny in the face.

Oh bollocks to this.

I scoot off the high stool and brush the crumbs off my trousers. After running upstairs I quickly smear on some red lipstick so that it looks like I’ve at least got some colour to my face.

So as not to damage my updo, I carefully try on different outfits. I settle on an ensemble of chiffon blue shirt and white trousers with tan wedges for shoes. I’m huffing and puffing a bit by the time I get the camera set up onto the tripod, so I calm down for a minute by sitting on the bed while fanning my face with my hand. I really mustn’t get too sweaty faced!

Finally, I decide on a suitable location in which to take a picture of myself standing near the bedroom balcony windows. I remember looking at magazines and when Cosmo isn’t busy suggesting the latest sex positions, they also have other advice. Like for instance, scrutinizing celebrity stances. Apparently I should stand with my to pointing at an angle. One hand should be on my hip while the other dangles long at my side. My shoulders should be pushed back and down as though I’m getting ready for a ballet move.

The first time I try this stance I nearly fall over backwards. The camera timer clicks. “Oh shit.” I curse out loud. I’m quite certain I haven’t got the snap shot I want just yet. My fears are confirmed when I go around to the other side of the camera and playback the photo on the digi screen.

In the image I look like I’m just about to fall on my arse.

Well, that won’t do. I press some buttons on the camera again, but this time I opt for a ten second lapse instead of five to give me more time to sort out my bloody posture! On my way back towards the balcony, my heel catches in the thick carpet and I go down sprawling. I land on my big boobs, which really hurts.

“Ouch,” I whimper and roll onto my back. Only I could manage to fall over wearing wedges with thick heels.

Is all this really worth it? Well, the lady at the local newspaper did say the article pays four hundred pounds. At this point though, I’m feeling like I weigh close to that in lbs!

Click.

The camera takes yet another unsuitable snap of me lying on the floor.

So much for the ten second delay being ample time for me. I’ll have to choose the twenty second setting next time, which is exactly what I do after getting up off the floor. I’m careful to walk slowly away from the camera this time as well. So as not to trip up on the thick carpet once again.

I make it to the balcony windows without even stumbling. Carefully, ever so carefully, I strike a pose that’s supposed to make me look natural, as though I’m not even posing at all.

And now I wait for the shutter to release on the camera. There’s a smile plastered across my face, my chest is sticking out and I’ve sucked in my gut. I’m holding my breath so as not to screw up the pose.

Come on you stupid camera! I scream inside my head. I’m refuse to breathe and it’s making my eyes are start to water.

Finally the damn thing clicks and I suck in a breath of much needed air. “Phooooooooooo.” I hiss, breathing outwards then gasping once again.

Well this is fantastic. What is this latest attempt at a suitable photo going to look like, I wonder?

I unstrap my stacked wedges and kick off my sandals before walking back to the camera on its tripod mount. When I look at the digi image on the screen I’m surprised to find that my face doesn’t look like it’s about to explode at all. The wateriness that my eyes had suffered while holding in my breath has resulted in a lovely sparkle to my irises.

Satisfied that this photo will have to do, I attach it to an email and send it off to Naomi at the Gazette. After all the trouble the one image cost me though, I don’t know how I’d manage to get through an entire photoshoot if I should be selected.

***



And…!

I’ve been selected.

“I’ve been selected, Cal!” I yell into the FaceTime video call with my fiancé.

“Are you sure you’re up to this?” Callum’s reply is a question that lacks excitement.

“Yeah, course I am.” I frown, causing my nose to shift. I’ve got an annoying bogie stuck up one nostril. I sniff loudly, but it doesn’t have any booger dislodging effects.

“Well, all right then. Have fun, my darling.”

“Just one sec, Cal.” I’ve got to get this annoying piece of snot out of my nose. There’s no more tissues left in the box on the coffee table though. Quickly, I turn the phone away and stick my finger right up my nostril. I’ve forgotten about the length of my acrylic manicure. “Ouch.”

“Something the matter, honey?” I hear Callum’s muffled voice from my phone. “Where did you go?”

Pulling my finger out of my nose, I turn the phone back towards my face. My eyes are slightly watering from the sting of nearly jabbing my inner brain with my long fingernail.

Sniff. “I’ve got to go if I’m going to make it to the newspaper on time.” Without waiting for my fiancé to say good bye, I swipe my finger across the face of my screen.

“What on earth is that?” Callum must be squinting at his phone in attempts at deciphering what the hell the big streak of booger must look like from his end.

Oh my god that is absolutely disgusting. “Nothing! Bye!” Go off. Go off! I scream at myself inside my head while jabbing the ‘END’ button on the screen.

Finally, the FaceTime call disconnects and I can sort out the snot that’s all over my phone. Jumping up from the sofa I head into the cloakroom for some tissue. I’m so grossed out by my own mucus.

After I’ve managed to clean everything up I glance at my hairdo in the mirror. At least I outwardly look glamorous. Also, I’d better make sure I don’t have any more lurking booger snots on the inner horizons of my nasal cavities. I wouldn’t want any nose digging disasters to occur during the newspaper photoshoot!

I’ve scrambled some things together and just before I head out the door I decide to take the bottle of diet wine with me. Apparently I’m going to be doing the photoshoot with two other women who are the exact size and weight as myself, I’m sure they wouldn’t mind sharing a tipple or two.

Naomi had given me the directions to the newspaper studios. The location is in West Malvern and when I reach my destination I have to park on a steep hillside. Opening my car door I push it open and lean really far forwards in attempts at getting out.

Bloody hell. If I can’t even manage to walk across my carpeted bedroom floor without tripping myself up, what made me think it was a good idea to wear these same wedges in a part of town that’s known for its immensely steep hills?

West Malvern is all hillside. Incredibly steep hillside.

Somehow I get myself out and slam the door shut. I’m holding onto my handbag and leaning against the car. The incline I’m standing on must be a forty per cent grade.

I glance around. There are many buildings perched on the hillside and I have no idea how I’m supposed to find the one we’re meeting at.

“Are you Emily?”

Looking up, I spot a woman with long bushy black hair waving at me from atop a set of concrete steps.

“Yes hello!” I exclaim, carefully teetering my way lopsidedly away from my car. “You must be Naomi?”

“That’s me,” she replies. “Come on up, the portrait studio is just this way.”

Slowly, and ever so carefully, I clomp my way at an ankle breaking angle on this steep hill. The incline is sideways, so I have to steady myself with my left leg with each footfall. I make it across the vast driveway and am relieved when my feet meet the level ground of the stairway platform. Climbing the staircase that wraps around the back of the four storey building, I follow Naomi in through a swinging glass door.

“I’m so glad you could make it.” Naomi smiles at me.

I follow her down winding corridors and up a few sets of stairs. “I’m just honoured that you picked me.” I reply sheepishly. I don’t know what else to say. The closer we get to this portrait studio, the more nervous I feel.

At last, Naomi opens one final door. “Don’t be silly, of course we picked you, you’re gorgeous and I love your hair!”

My goodness but she’s nearly as exuberant as Kirsten.

“Thank you.” I pat my bridal updo with a hand.

“Yeah, if I’d known the paper was going to do a curvy woman feature I would have tried to fatten myself up.”

I now find myself struggling not to let my jaw fall open in astonishment at what the young, skinny Naomi has just said.

“I’ve always wanted bigger tits anyway.” She shoves one of her small boobs with the hand that isn’t holding the door open.

Biting my lip in attempts at not saying anything in response, I make my way into the studio. My eyes take a moment to adjust to the darkness. When my vision clears I spy four new people in the room. I also spy with my squinting eyes, many light filtering umbrellas and cameras on tripods.

“Everyone, this is the voluptuous Emily!” Naomi introduces me to the photographer first. He’s a tall man with trendy beard stubble. He’s also wearing dark sunglasses in this already darkened room. I don’t know how he can see anything at all behind those lenses. I shake his hand and I’m next introduced to the make-up artist. After that I’m told who the other ladies are that will be participating in this photoshoot.

“Nice to meet you, Emily.” The woman called Sharon says. She’s got bleached blonde hair that frizzes to her shoulders and she’s wearing track suit bottoms and a t-shirt.

“Lovely to meet you, Emily.” The other lady’s name is Oona. She has a short purple bob hair cut with two strands in the front that are longer than the back. She’s not dressed as casually as Sharon. Oona has on a black business suit and heels as high as my own.

“Ladies!” Naomi claps her hands. “If you’ll step over here we’ve got a few outfits you can each try on.

I’m guessing Sharon knew about the clothes change, it’s the only reason I can think of why she’d show up dressed like she’d just rolled out of bed. Not that I’m one to judge. I should have worn trainers like Sharon, myself. It certainly would have saved me walking on the West Malvern hills in these ridiculously high wedge shoes. I, however, wasn’t informed that there would be a change of wardrobe available.

I manage to find something suitable to wear that makes my waist look smaller. The make-up artist fixes my face so that I’m not forced into keeping my too red lipstick on.

My hair and Oona’s are already done, so we wait while Sharon has her frizzy locks tamed.

I share my bottle of diet wine with the other ladies and this is when Naomi asks us the newspaper interview questions. They’re inquiries about how we feel about our weight and whether or not we’re thinking about dieting and exercising. Nothing too intrusive, so I don’t indulge too much information. I certainly don’t expand on the fact that I’ve been absolutely obsessing about my weight lately. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that a bride-to-be would be into the diet thing on a hardcore level.

The make-up artist is also apparently the hairstylist, for she curls Sharon’s hair into the most amazing golden blonde waves. She’s like a woman transformed in her wrap dress. We all look amazing for the photoshoot as the photographer starts snapping away, behind his dark sunglasses.

When I leave the studios an hour later I’m feeling so pleased with myself, not even the steepness of this blasted hillside can pull me down. I arrive home on a high. I actually feel pretty and I’m loath to take down my hair. Callum hadn’t seen too much of my bridal updo when I’d FaceTimed him, especially not behind the huge bogie I’d wiped across the phone screen. Besides, my bridal style is supposed to be a surprise for our wedding day.

It feels good when I take all the pins out of my hair though, and soaking in a hot bath afterwards is even more soothing.

What a perfect end to a lovely afternoon. As I lie in the bath I’m feeling quite excited about seeing myself in the newspaper tomorrow. I’m positive the photos turned out amazing!