My Big Fat Low-Fat Wedding (12 page)

Difficult as it is to relax my shot nerves with a possibly maniacal robot close by, I manage to relax my shoulders a bit. Mia dictates measurements to her tub bot who bleeps in response each time. If I hadn’t had such incredibly horrific interactions with every robot I’ve met thus far, I’d be tempted to say Mia’s bot is quite cute. When the thing belches a sudden spark through its undercarriage though, I change my mind quickly.

“Is that all the measurements you need?” I back away from Mia just as she wraps her measuring tape around her neck.

“Yep, finished. I’ll take in your clothes by two inches and you can pick them up in a couple of days.”

I’ve already got my hand on the door, but when Mia says this I turn back around. “Two whole inches?” I’m positively ecstatic when she nods in reply. This time when I leave the presence of a new robot, I’m not burdened with fear of the thing because I’m positively brimming with the news that I’ve lost two inches off my curvy personage!

Chapter 8

It’s official. I need to celebrate my weight loss. And what better way to do that than to go shopping?

I pull my car up to the front entrance of the Evans and combination Dorothy Perkins stores. Prancing in on a high of feeling good weight loss emotion, I turn right and start perusing the Evans racks of clothing. Grabbing a size fourteen pair of trousers I head into the changing rooms. I undo my cinched in belt and let my size sixteen jeans fall to the floor. Stepping out of my jeans I put one foot into the new trousers, and the next.

Slowly, ever so slowly, I pull the pants upwards.

Please fit, please fit. I chant like a mantra in my mind.

The trousers go up smoothly. Not only that, but they continue to be easily pulled upwards at the waistband all the way to my boobs.

“What on earth…?” Glancing in the mirror, twisting this way and that for a better view, I can see that the size fourteen trousers are staying up at my waist. However, they’re also tremendously baggy in the crotch area.

Oh. My. God.

Can this be real?

Is this actually happening?

Are these size fourteen trousers not only a size smaller than I usually wear, but they’re also too big?

Quickly, I take them off without undoing the button or front zipper. Digging inside the back I check the tag to make sure I haven’t mistakenly grabbed a size twenty or something.

Nope, these are definitely size fourteens, so I hurriedly put them back on.

I’m standing here staring at my reflection in the mirror. I’m pulling at the baggy crotch of these trousers between my legs. They are honestly too big.

“They’re too big!” I squeak out loud excitedly and my hand flies to my mouth. Nearly silently, I say it again. “Size fourteen are too big!” Tears of joy burst from my eyes and roll down my cheeks. I’ve got a huge stupid grin on my face and I’m biting my knuckles trying not to cry out with joy.

Okay. Get a hold of yourself, woman!

Fanning my face with my hands I’m finally able to control my emotions. I mean, this is all fine and dandy, but what if it’s just this particular brand of trousers? For all I know maybe they’re the only pair of pants in the shop that have an extra-large crotch area.

Pingaling!

I press the bell inside my changing cubicle that calls in a store attendant.

“Could you get me a few more trouser styles in a size fourteen.” I ask the clerk when she arrives.

“Any styles or colours in particular?”

“Nope,” I shake my head and grin widely at her. “Any style will do.”

I’m practically hopping up and down in anxiousness while I wait for the store attendant to bring me more trousers. When she does finally arrive I almost rip the pairs of pants from her hand and shut the curtain closed with a flourish. “Thanks!” I bark, as an afterthought of my hurried rudeness.

One after the next I try on size fourteen trousers in many different styles. They’re all too big on the waist and most of them have spare fabric at the crotch.

I’m ecstatic with glee! I almost can’t contain my excitement because I know for a fact that size fourteen is the smallest size on the Evans side of this combination store.

Ripping open the parting curtain after I’m redressed in my baggy-waisted jeans, I grab all the trousers I tried on. I know I could just leave them here for the clerk to pick up, but I want this one moment of glory as I head towards the check out.

“Any joy?” The store attendant lady asks me.

“No, I’m afraid not,” I reply, trying my best not to smile too much. “They’re all too big!”

Okay, I may have said that too loudly if the insta-stares I get from customers is anything to go by. Oh well, I don’t care because I’m about to try something that I haven’t dared do in years.

I’m going to walk to the other side of the store. I’m going to try on jeans from the normal sized shop; Dorothy Perkins!

***

When I step across the threshold and into the fashion jungle I’m mentally smacked by a sense of achievement. I’m in a new world that is almost foreign to me. I’m surrounded by skinny women and signs on racks of clothing that say these jeggins are indeed available in super-skinny size.

Super-skinny, huh?

I’m going to do it. I’m going to try those babies on as my first pair of anything that I’ve worn outside the plus size store. Okay so the pair of super-skinny jeans I take off the rack are size eighteen, but it’s because I don’t want to push my luck.

“Can I try these on?” I ask the slender store assistant on this, the tiny side of the shop. My feelings of over confidence have evaporated and I peep like a little mouse.

“Of course you can.” The thin girl smiles at me and I head into the changing rooms with a sense of déjà vu.

This time, I don’t waste a second. I get right down to shoving my legs into the jeans that are tight as… well… tights. I’m determined to get these things on!

After much gasping and pulling I’ve secured the button and zipper at my waist. That sense of déjà vu returns with a wallop. I stare into the mirror to discover that not only do these skinny jeans fit, but they have extra fabric at the crotch!

What is it with my groin area? Am I weirdly shaped or something? Why is there all this space with every pair of pants I’ve tried on today? I mean, it’s not like I want to try on trousers that are so tight between my legs they give me camel-toe, or anything like that. Honestly though, I must have a really small pelvic area.

I ping the button that calls the skinny store attendant in. “Can you get these for me in a size sixteen please?”

The girl hurries away and comes back in a flash with a smaller size of the super-skinny jeans. “Don’t you just love these?” She says, smacking herself on her tiny flat bottom. “I’m wearing them too because they’re just so trendy!” She bounces away and I scowl at her for a moment before shutting the curtain.

I definitely don’t look as good as she does with my big hips. I’ll probably never have the confidence to wear super-skinny jeans in public, however, I’m chuffed to bits that I’m even able to try a pair on.

And the size sixteen super-skinny jeans fit perfectly. I’ve pulled them on and there’s no extra fabric under my crotch. They’re not so tight as to cause nineteen-eighties rocker chick camel-toe problem either. I definitely don’t look as good as the store attendant does in these trousers —especially with my big hips— and I’ll probably never have the confidence to wear super-skinny jeans in public. However, I’m chuffed to bits that I’m even able to try a pair on.

***

With a hop and a skip and a spring in my step I bound out of the Dorothy Perkins side of the store. I’m carrying a bag with a brand new pair of size fourteen jeans —admittedly not in super-skinny size— and I couldn’t be happier. Well, I’m sure I’ll be a lot more happy on my wedding day. Obviously! Because I’ll be marrying the man of my dreams while wearing a smaller sized wedding dress!

I think. As far as I know my boobs haven’t shrunk all that much. I don’t want to jinx myself by going back into the skinny store and trying on tops. I’m going to take it one body part at a time, as far as trying on smaller clothing goes.

Throwing my purchase into the passenger seat as I hop into my car, I’m confident nothing can spoil my mood for the rest of the day.

That confidence is shattered when I pull out of the parking space, because as I pull away from the shopping area I know I saw Thomas the lifeguard staring at me from his stance on the pavement.

I don’t know what that kid is up to always being around lately. He’s really starting to creep me out. I’ll be sure to tell Callum about him when I get home. My darling fiancé will protect me. My amazing fiancé is going to be so pleased when I give him a private fashion show tonight wearing only my new skinny (ish) jeans!

***

It’s seven at night and Callum is due back home soon. I’ve outdone myself preparing a cuisine meal for two. My fiancé is going to be so surprised when he gets home!

Donning my new smaller size jeans, I leave off every other piece of clothing. I pour myself a glass of red and sit in the front room, topless, and imbibing. When I hear the key turn in the lock of the front door, I hurry into the kitchen at the end of the entrance hall.

“Emily?” Callum’s voice echoes throughout the house. “I’ve got something to show you, honey.”

He’s got something to show me? Well, just wait until he sees what I’ve got to show him! Setting my glass of wine down onto the table, I call to my lover. “I’m in the kitchen, darling!”

I hear footfalls nearing just as I leap into the doorway, arms akimbo and shout, “Surprise!”

Then, just as suddenly I shout, “Oh no!” Wrapping my arms around my still jiggling breasts, I slither behind the doorway.

I am absolutely mortified beyond belief. I should have stopped when I thought I’d heard more than one pair of footsteps walking down the hall because as I’d jumped out just now, fully topless, Oliver had been walking just behind Callum.

***

Ten minutes later I’m wearing my bath robe and Callum and I are in our bedroom upstairs. “Something to show me? Why did you have to say you had a something to show me, Cal? Why couldn’t you have said you had a someone to show me?”

“Well how was I supposed to know you were planning on flashing your breasts to anything I might have been about to show you?”

Harrumphing loudly, I throw myself onto the bed. “What a disaster! Oliver is so gross. He’s the last person I’d ever want to see my bare boobs!”

“And who’s the first person you’d want to see your bare breasts.”

My fiancé’s question sounds strangely rhetorical. “Oh you know.” I slap him playfully on his shoulder as he slides into bed next to me. “You of course, silly.”

“That’s all right then.” Sneakily, Callum eases his hand in through the opening of my dressing gown.

This time, I my slap is a bit more forceful as I push him away and sit up. “Look,” I say adamantly. “Oliver is gone and I made us a fine dinner that we are going to eat first. You’ll just have to talk to Oliver at work tomorrow because there’s no way I can ever face him again.”

“Great idea, honey. I’m famished.” Callum jumps up from the bed and is running down the stairs before I even get my wits about me.

Men. They’re either hungry or horny. Feed them and then they want sex. Bonk them and they get hungry all over again.

Jumping out of bed myself, I figure tonight is the night when I’ll finally achieve Best Girlfriend of the Year award for both feeding and fucking my man at the same time. Honestly, there should be medals given out for efforts such as mine.

I meet Callum in the kitchen and he’s already done the honours of lighting the candles on the table.

Pulling my bath robe closed a bit tighter, I glare at my fiancé. “Are you sure you don’t have any other somethings or someones to show me tonight?”

He returns my glare with a look of pure lust. “I’m sure, now come here you.” Callum moves towards me, but I stop him with my outstretched hand.

“I wanted to show you something though, look!” Whipping off my dressing gown I let it fall to the floor. “These aren’t super skinny jeans, but they’re a smaller size and I got them from Dorothy Perkins, not Evans!” Holding my heavy breasts, I turn to the side and flaunt my new denims.