My Big Fat Low-Fat Wedding - By Katya Starkey Page 0,96

Stacy and Nicola have left the bridal suit. Now it’s just me, Lara and the Undesirables; the dreaded control underwear that I have to stuff my body into if I’m ever going to fit into my perfectly altered bridal gown.

“Don’t make me do this please, Lara. I’m begging you.”

Normally I’d expect a full on sarcastic response from my plucky best friend. After her major fuck-up of cancelling on me though, I don’t think Lara is feeling anything other than perpetually apologetic.

“Don’t worry, hun. You only have to wear them for an hour or so.”

That isn’t the response I wanted to hear. I’d expected Lara to quip wicked in retort. Also, I really don’t think I’ll actually be able to survive for an entire hour being squashed up inside all that tight fabric.

“Let’s get this over with then.” Taking the main pieces of control underwear with me into the bathroom, I close the door behind me.

Starting with the slimming shorts, I put my big toe into the small opening and pull. The fabric stretches a bit, but my leg fails to punch through. I remove the material and start again.

This time bunch up the leg of the shorts like I’m about to put on a pair of tights. I stretch the leg wide open and stick my entire foot through successfully. Once I’m two feet in I have to start pulling in an upwards motion. I’m wrenching and stretching the fabric so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t rip to shreds.

“Are you sure these are my size, Lolz?” I bellow at Lara through the bathroom door. “It’s just… they’re a bit tight.”

“They’re supposed to be tight! Come on, Em! You can do this!”

Well that’s a bit better. At least she’s showing signs of getting back to the plucky spirit of the girl I used to know.

“Would you like me to come in and help?”

Oh no. Oh god no. No one on this planet shall ever witness the atrocity of curvy girl squishing herself into ill-fitting control underwear, and that’s a fact.

Sighing with exasperation I’m aware that at this point I might not make it to my own wedding even fashionably late. Unless of course fashionably late now runs in the region of an hour behind schedule, which it definitely doesn’t. Besides, I’m anxious to see my fiancé and I’d never keep such a nice guy waiting!

Tugging with all my might brings the control pants up to my thighs.

Ah yes. My hips. We now have to struggle past these buggers.

Okay fists, this is going to be rough but you can do it. Get furious!

Squeezing my fists as tightly around the fabric as I can —without digging out my palms with my new acrylic nails— I grip the pants and pull.

“Nnnuuuhhhgggh!” A wretched sound escapes my lips.

“Are you all right in there?” Lara’s voice seeps through the closed door.

“I’m fine!” I shout, feeling like a true winner. The control pants are on and they fit snugly up to my waist. “I’m putting on the top bit now!”

“Hooray!” Lara yells and I hear her clap her hands a few times. “When you have that on there’s only four more control pieces that I can help you with.”

Did I just hear her correctly? Did she honestly say four other pieces of this dreadful underwear? What could those pieces be? The dress I’m wearing is strapless, surely all these control bits will show and make me look lopsided and squished up.

Whatever. I trust Lara. She knows what’s best. After all, she has been running a bridal shop for years and years. Who am I to question an authority on underwear such as her fine seamstress self?

I do have one question though. Right now I have no idea which way up this control top goes on. It’s a sort of tube top thingy, so I figure I can just shove it over my head and stick my arms through.

That’s exactly what I do and it’s probably exactly why I get stuck. “Oh fiddle sticks.” I mumble and peer at myself in the free standing full-length mirror. These mirrors are everywhere around the bridal suit. The owners know that a bride needs to look at herself wherever she might be on the day of her wedding.

I look like I’ve become half caught in a trap. My lower half is sucked in by the control shorts, but my upper body is a sight to behold. The control top has become stuck just below my armpits like a suffocating rubberband. My