My Big Fat Low-Fat Wedding (19 page)

Reaching towards the wall hook, Stacy pulls down a black smock and holds it open for me to put on. I move forward and shove my arm through the flowy fabric while turning on my heel. As I’m yanking on the other arm of the smock, the digital bell over the front door chimes.

I glance up to see Thomas entering the salon.

“Why you little pest.” I hiss. “What the hell are you doing here?” I move forward so fast the cover-all cloth I’m now wearing billows out behind me. “Now you listen to me…” I’m about to add the term ‘brat’ to the end of my sentence, when I stop myself for civilised reasons. “I know you’re stalking me and even though I don’t know why, I want you to stop!” I jab a stabby finger into the blonde kid’s chest.

“I’m not stalking you.” Thomas doesn’t even flinch. “I’m just here to umm… I’m here to give Stacy a lift home.”

“You what?” Turning fully around I look at Stacy. “You know this child?”

Ping ring!

She shakes her head. “No I don’t know who that was, and I don’t know how he knew my name.”

What does she mean, who that was?

Turning back round I can see that Thomas has gone. I realise I hadn’t noticed the sound of the door chime pinging when he’d exited the salon.

***

I’m sat in the salon chair now. Stacy is standing behind me and we’re both looking at each other in the mirror.

“Who was that cute but creepy guy?” Stacy asks me.

Cute? Really? “I don’t know,” I reply, looking at her in the mirror reflection. “He’s been following me around for ages and I’m beyond tired of it.”

“I wouldn’t mind having a stalker.” Stacy drags her hands through my hair and I have a feeling her mind is elsewhere. “That would be a guy who you’d know proper liked you, right?”

My facial expression of —jaw wide open in the mirror’s reflection— shows I’m aghast at her statement. “Um no, I don’t think so.” I really don’t know how else to answer her question. It’s mind boggling that she even asked me it in the first place. I bet she wouldn’t ask an A-List celebrity a question like that. Especially not someone famous who’s been to court over some creepazoid stalker climbing into their bedroom window and trying on their underwear, or something.

“So,” I say, changing the subject back to the matter of hair at hand. “Did you say Tina showed you the updos I’d like to try?”

Stacy nods. “Course she did, and I have a surprise for you.”

Uh oh. I’m not sure I like the sound of that particular statement.

“I thought about all the pictures, right?”

I wait for Stacy to continue, but she doesn’t until I nod my head in agreement.

“Well!” She exclaims. “I put the lot together inside my brain.” At this point she taps the side of her head while I carry on staring at her via the mirror’s reflection. “I’ve invented a bridal style for you that includes the lot!”

What can she mean; includes the lot? Does she think I want all of the bridal hair style combined into one? “Um…” I mumble. “I don’t think that’s quite what I had in mind. Could we just try out the looks separately first?”

“What on earth for?” Stacy takes a comb from the shelf and gets to work on my hair. “Once I show you this style you won’t want me to do another!”

I’m inclined to believe her on that point. I don’t want her to do my hair at all, let alone any other styles if she’s not going to do as I ask. Oh well, this is actually a complimentary visit from Tina, as she’s a friend. I guess I’m going to have to let Stacy have her way. If I don’t like it though, I’ll be honest regardless of whether or not I’m getting my hair done for free.

Yank.

“Ow.”

“Sorry.”

Pull.

I hiss through my teeth at the pain.

“Sorry.”

At this rate Stacy is going to brush all the hairs from my scalp, and it doesn’t half hurt as well. She’s not gentle. “Can you please take it a little more easy.” I beg. My eyes are starting to water.

Stacy apologises again and gets back to work only slightly less pulling at my locks. She drapes a towel around my shoulders and instructs me to follow her.

Oh. So that was just the brushing of hair part. I dread to think what I’m about to endure whilst having my hair washed.

Leaning the back of my head and neck into the sink, I try to relax while staring at the ceiling propped television set. I might be in even more of a panic now though. What if that flatscreen falls onto my face? It will probably kill me—”

“Ouch, ouch!” I scream as Stacy blasts my skull with hot water. “Too warm! That’s much too warm!”

“Sorry.” She apologises yet again and removes the stream of scalding water from the top of my head. When she next starts wetting my locks the water is freezing cold. I’m not going to complain though, because I’d rather have chattering teeth come the end of enduring this, than to have my scalp burned off.

And so, yet again, I find myself grinning and baring it. I’m literally clamping my jaw shut tight together in attempts at withstanding the freeze upon my head.

“Okay,” Stacy finally says after shutting off the liquid nitrogen temperature water. “You can sit forward now.”

Rising slowly, it takes a second for Stacy to gather up the towel from around my shoulders. She doesn’t quite wrap it tightly around my head well enough, so chilled water drips from my forehead and into my eyes.

Shivering, I rise from my seat and follow Stacy back towards the salon chair. I figure she’ll have to blow dry my hair a bit, so maybe I’ll be able to warm up from some hot air soon.

Correction, I’m going to be perpetually frozen solid for the remainder of this ordeal. Stacy has turned on a desk fan and has aimed it fully at my face. “This will slowly dry your hair.” She explains. “We don’t want it dripping wet, now do we?”

We don’t. No, I certainly don’t. I never want my hair to be cold and dripping wet again! I’m tempted to take a mental vow of never again stepping foot into an outdoor swimming pool, if it means I would then never have to get out and subject my poor cranium to freezing cold air against it.

Wrapping my arms around myself underneath the black shift, doesn’t warm me up at all. What’s worse is that Stacy has now started dragging a fine toothed comb through my sodden hair, after pulling down the wet towel.

“Ow.” I yelp as my head is wrenched back.

“Sorry.”

“Ooouuuch.” I moan when Stacy drags the comb about halfway down my scalp, only to be stopped by the tangling of my hair.

“Sorry.”

This can’t go on! I’ll never be able to endure the agony! “It’s just that I’ve got a rather sensitive scalp.” I’m struggling to retain a sense of civilised calm in my voice.

“Oh well why didn’t you say so?” Stacy brightens and smiles at me in the reflection of the mirror. “I’ve got just the thing for you.”

Finally, she uses a wide-toothed brush on my hair. It’s a bit better —pain wise— until the torture begins again when she starts the actual hair transformation. My blonde locks are twisted and yanked upwards so tightly, then pinned in place, I don’t think I’m going to be able to blink once this is all over.

“All right now I’ve got to turn you round for this bit. I want the end result to be a surprise!” Stacy claps her hands together excitedly. She spins me round in my seat and I’m inclined to think of her recent words as utterly useless. I wasn’t able to see my reflection in the mirror any way, due to tears of pain flooding my inner eyelids.

More yanking of hair later and I’ve pulled through the pain.

“Finished?” My voice is wobbly. I’m shaken due to having to endure such torture upon my noggin.

“Finished!” Stacy whirls my chair back round.

I stare in disbelief at my reflection. My scalp is throbbing after having been blow-dried to within an inch of its life, at one point. My eyes are still watery, causing hazy vision, but I can definitely see what Stacy has done to my poor hair.

When she said she’d combined all of the images I’d suggested, she wasn’t kidding. Tilting my head, my jaw drops open in astonishment as I peruse the helmet atop my head that was once known as hair. There are so many swirls and curls pinned up at odd angles, my eyes are starting to cross. The worst of it is that from my forehead to crown are braided corn rows trailing in straight lines.

“Tee-nah!” I wail, no longer giving a fig about decorum. “Help!”

Tina comes racing into the salon from her rear office. “What’s happening — Oh dear god.” She states flatly upon seeing my supposed bridal updo. “Stacy, have you gone mad?”

As much as Tina’s chastising her trainee, she hasn’t moved towards us in the slightest and she keeps looking behind herself. “I… umm… I’ll be right back!” Tina rushes away just as I spot her trolley shaped robot floating into the salon area. She shoos it back and reappears moments later. “Right then.” Tina dismisses Stacy, telling her to take her break.

Stacy’s response is a mere shrug of the shoulders as she departs. She might not have a care in the world for what she’s done to my head, but I certainly do.

“I thought you said you were going to do my hair, Tina.” I whimper because I’m feeling sore headed and quite let down.

“I was… oh, Emily, I’m so sorry, I… just let me fix this for you. Okay?” Tina reaches out as though to start taking bobby pins out of my hair. When I yelp in agony though, she reconsiders her tactics. I try to ask her how she can employ someone like Stacy, but Tina isn’t forth coming about anything. I’m not the only person with watery eyes in this salon. Tina also looks like she’s about to start crying any minute now.

So I leave it. I don’t say another word about my disastrous hairdo. Tina guides me back to the sinks and tells me she’ll soak Stacy’s mistake out of my hair, so that I don’t have to suffer any more pain.

Two hours later I’m sitting in the salon chair with a do that’s finally made me happy. Tina has worked wonders with my locks and she did it all without causing me any further harm. She’s a miracle worker and I’m left staring at her handiwork in the mirror’s reflection.

I sigh in relief and I smile with joy. I’m so glad I’m finally pleased with this updo, because as far as I’m concerned, I’m never going to be able to take my hair down. I simply don’t want to risk harming my scalp all over again.

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.