My Big Fat Low-Fat Wedding - By Katya Starkey Page 0,67

nothing needs separating. I get down onto my knees and lean over the bath after turning off the taps.

“Oh bugger.”

I’ve forgotten the washing powder and fabric conditioner.

“Oh joy!” I yell. I don’t know if this outburst is me faking joviality at the thought that running down —and then back up— the stairs is honest happiness. I’m just trying to instil a sense of ambition within myself like the Fat Bride book told me to do. Well, it didn’t really say very motivating things, but I just don’t know how comfortable I am with calling myself a fat bitch. Especially as I’m just starting out with this new regime by Doctor Shield.

I do run down and then back up the steps with washing powder and fabric conditioner in hand. I’m getting very sweaty now as everything I’m doing is with ankle and wrist weights attached to their relative body parts.

“Oh shit.” I swear again upon entering the bathroom. I’m wondering if I’ve put too much water into the tub. Ah well, I suppose I’ll just have to use double the amount of washing powder. I pour in four scoops, bend down again, lean over the rounded edge of the tub and get to work.

“Scrub a dub dub, I’m an old fashioned blub.”

I start crooning to myself. I’m making up a lunatic song about my current exercise efforts.

“Back in the day, they’d wash shit this way.”

Suddenly, my lyrics become a rap.

“By hand, yo! That’s where it’s at. Ratta tat tat, scrub that crap. Rub those kickers, and they’ll scrub up quickers!”

I’m really getting into the groove of things now. I don’t know why I didn’t think of doing laundry by hand sooner. No wonder women were thinner two hundred years ago, anyone who did laundry without a washing machine really got loads of exercise. I’m sweating more now than I did running up and down the stairs!

Once I’ve finished washing everything, I lean down and stretch my back, which hurts. I guess being on my knees in such a bad position for so long wasn’t such a great idea. Not as far as cramping goes, anyway. My legs are stiff when I stand up.

“Ooohhhh,” I moan in agony. Placing my hands on my lower back, I bend to the side and popping sounds exude from my lower spine. “Aaahhh,” I hiss. “That’s better.”

Looking down into the bath I notice all the bubbles have gone from the surface and the water is a brownish grey colour.

“Yuck.” I state, matter-of-factly. It’s a disgusting job, doing the wash by hand, but someone (namely fat me) has to do it if she wants to get in a good workout!

Hang on a minute. I think I’m getting a grip on the name-calling thing now. The author of the diet book did have things right. There’s a bit of advice that she mentions in the beginning of the book that I understand now. It’s not exercise that’s suggested, but I’m ready to try out the mentioned tips. Right after I ring out all this soaked laundry though.

“Hooray.” I stare with a bit less glee at the inner contents of the bath. It will give me more exercise when I’m forced to wring the hell out of these clothes. There’s a feeling of doubt creeping into my mind again though.

Shrugging my shoulders, I get on with the task at hand. I figure I’m just excited to be getting on with the next bit of Fat Bride book advice that I’m sure will clear up my doubtful thoughts for good.

***

I get straight into the tip in the book that suggests a process I’m trying out.

“You fat bitch! You horrible disgusting mess! You are a whale of a woman and you look like a blimp!”

Callum arrives home to find me shouting at myself while standing in front of our full length bedroom mirror.

“What the fuck are you doing, Em?”

Oh my. He looks angry.

“I… I… What do you mean, honey?” I’m confused by his sudden appearance in the room, not to mention his vehement language.

“What do you think I mean?” He’s very frowny as he walks toward me. “Just what do you think you’re doing saying things like that to yourself?”

I’m at a loss for words. I don’t know why he seems so angry at me. I’m deeply confused and I can’t figure out why this is. “I was just doing what the book said.”

“Book? What book?”

I tie up my dressing gown. I’d been letting it hang open while staring at myself