My Big Fat Low-Fat Wedding (21 page)

“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!

Chapter 14

There are two types of people online; normal individuals and trolls. Wait. No. Correction, there are trolls everywhere on the internet except for on Facebook. If I do get bullied (or if someone simply disagrees with me) on Facebook, I simply block them.

Now that I’ve logged onto the local newspaper website this morning, I find I’m in no control over who gets blocked from commenting on the page where I’m featured from yesterday’s photoshoot. And there are some very mean buggers online today. Most of the meannies are women commenters. Obviously these women haven’t used their real names, the cowards. Under the article about curvy women in the comments section most of the blokes who have had something to say have written quite nice statements.

Well, their comments are a bit on the lewd side with statements such as: “Saucy!” And: “I’d bed that!” Or: “Hook me up with the blonde hotness in the middle!” I’m in the middle on the page and my favourite comment from one guy has to be: “Get your tits out for the lads, Emily!”

In comparison with the comments from female trolls, the men’s statements are quite welcome. I know the women who commented are just jealous because Sharon, Oona and I look gorgeous all done up and featured as ladies with curves. The female trolls simply call us fat. What a laugh! I bet these troll comments are coming from women sitting around their houses who probably weigh ten stone more than I do. The fucking bitches.

I’m fuming mad now. Slamming my laptop shut I pick up my phone and ring Naomi at the local paper. “Can you have the comments section removed on our feature page!” I don’t even scream this at her down the phone as a question, I’m that angry.

“The what?” Is the response I get from Naomi. “Bear with me a moment.” I hear ticking noises down the line. “Oh!” Naomi exclaims. “You mean the comments in the online newspaper version?”

I’m guessing she’s seen the ‘fat woman’ comments from the trolls. “Yes, of course that’s what I mean. Can they be removed?”

“I suppose they should be, right?” Naomi pauses. “Oh this one’s particularly nasty, did you read the one that says you should all go on a diet—”

“Yes!” I interrupt her, not caring about rudeness in the slightest. “I’ve read quite a lot of them, and I would hope that I don’t have to read any more when I log back on later!”

I slam my iPhone face down onto the counter, but then I just have to pick it up again to end the call properly. After placing the phone down gently this time, I run upstairs and slide face first into bed. I cry my eyes out into the bunched up pillow beneath me, weeping like a child who’s just been teased on the school playground.

Why are some people so cruel? And why did I forget my phone downstairs? Now I can’t even ring up Callum to tell him what’s happened. Not that I should let him see me like this. I certainly hope he doesn’t view the online version of that stupid photoshoot. He’ll see the comments and… and…

And he’ll probably agree with them!

“Oh whaaaaaa!” I bawl my eyes out and smash my face into the pillow again. “I’m such a fat arsed blimp!” I mumble into the pillow but my voice is so muffled the only sounds I make are muted cries of patheticness.

Well to hell with this. I sit up and throw my snotty pillow at the wall. “Stupid fucking internet bitch trolls!” I rage at the air and jump out of bed. Oh god, it really is my time of the month. “Calm yourself woman.”

I’m now standing facing the full length mirror. Any effects of last night’s soothing hot bath have definitely worn off and I think I could use another soak. Before I head into the bathroom I take off all my clothes and look at my nude reflection. My big boobs seem to be exploding with puffiness, my waist curves in but there’s always been that pooch sticking out below my belly button. My hips are enormous! I try to flatten them using my hands, but they just pop back out again when I drop my arms to my sides.

“Right. That’s it.” From now on I’m a woman on a mission. I think I’ve vowed to myself before to take on more exercise, but this time I truly mean it! I can’t go on in this body. I really am a big fat whale like those stupid internet trolls said. Okay so the male commenters on the newspaper website actually seemed to like our womanly curves, but I certainly don’t feel at all sexy right now.

Why did I have to read the bloody comments in the first place? I’m such an idiot.

Storming into the bathroom makes my boobs jiggle annoyingly, so I slow down when filling up the tub. Maybe if I make the water really hot it will melt all the fat under my skin. Then it will simply be a matter of draining out the fat from the tub.

“Hah!” I bark an insane laugh while swiping away more tears that have begun to flow. I mean, it’s not like I can get under my skin to scrape away the body fat with a skimmer or something. Damn, I really am losing the plot. I need to do something to cheer myself up today. I know I said I was going to check to make sure Naomi deleted all of the newspaper comments, but now I honestly don’t care. After my bath I’m not going online at all. In fact, I may never use the internet ever again.

Stupid internet. “Stupid social networking sites.”

I talk to myself throughout my entire bathing process. This actually manages to calm me and not turn me into a raving lunatic who nearly considered opening up her own skin and sucking out her fat through a garden hose.

I know what will cheer me up. More bridal treatments at Tina’s salon.

***

“Emily!” Stacy squeals at me as I enter the salon. “You’re a celebrity!” She rustles the local newspaper at me that’s opened to the page I’m featured on. I’m just hoping she hasn’t seen the online version of the photoshoot as well. I came here to escape the article’s comments and already I’m being accosted with the very thing I’m trying to avoid.

“Emily?” My name is screeched again, but not in a pleasant manner. I look up to see Tina coming out of the back rooms. “Thanks for mentioning us in the paper, but what are you doing here again?”

She’s right, I had mentioned her in the newspaper article because she’d done my hair so beautifully. Funny, there wasn’t any mention in the online comments about how lovely my hair had looked. Not that I’d expect any sort of kindness from absolute trolls. Why does it seem that the internet is only used by people all under the age of twelve? Or with personalities that are stuck in a childish time warp no matter how aged they become.

“Shoo, you silly bot!” Tina makes waving motions with her hands at her salon trolley shaped robot that’s just floated into the room. “Um, what was it you said you needed, Emily?”

“I wanted to try some semi-permanent eyelash extensions.”

Tina is now leaning against her robot in attempts at pushing it away.

“Is that thing trying to get me?”

“What?” Tina replies, looking nervous. “Don’t be silly, Emily. Why would you think that?”

“Oh I don’t know,” I say, edging around the reception desk. “If that thing had eyes I’d swear it’s giving me evils.” I really don’t get these bots, or their owners. I have a sneaking suspicion something funny is going on around here.

“Stacy!” Tina suddenly shouts. “Stacy will apply your false lashes, Emily. No problem!” She pushes hard on the robot before I can get to close. With the bot behind her, just like yesterday, she shoves it into the back office of the salon.

“Have a seat, Emily!” Stacy smiles and indicates a chair that looks like it belongs in a dental clinic.

Oh well I suppose I’ll have to be laid back with my eyes closed in order for her to apply the false lashes. And that’s exactly what I’m told to do. When I’m situated Stacy does indeed tell me to close my eyes.