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