I was going to look hot at this wedding if it killed me but things weren’t going well with my preparations. I tried to do the pretty but it was hot and my face sweated so my foundation ran and, when I put on more, it glopped and I looked like a leper.
I washed it off and put the bottle in the fridge for a while then put the air conditioning on to freezing. Finally, I got it right but somewhere along the way my mascara ran and I had Alice Cooper eyes and, when I fished my Dusky Rose lipstick out of my bag, it was covered in strands of tobacco. I’d lost the lid about five years ago but I couldn’t throw it out – they don’t make Dusky Rose any more, although I still search the makeup section of every supermarket hoping to find some leftover stock.
I’d have to get Jack to do some damage control later. I needed to stop stuffing around and get into that dress.
I slipped it over my head and inched it down. It felt tight, tighter than it had in the shop; I had to pull it taut to get it over my hips. But it fitted, just. I turned to look at the back view in the mirror. Oh man, it was definitely tight. That diet… the one I’d been meaning to start every Monday for the past six months… that diet surely wasn’t working. But I hadn’t been pigging out that much, it’s just hard when you can’t cook and the man at the shop on the corner makes the best chips in the entire world. Or maybe I was getting my period; it was bloating.
Who was I kidding? Every dim sim and hamburger and pizza I’d eaten in the last month had gone straight to my arse.
I needed help... like a whalebone corset or emergency liposuction but the best I could do was control tops. I emptied my drawers, praying I had a pair. I did. Something was going right.
I’d just put my second foot into the pantyhose when I heard the rip from behind.
I froze then sat on the edge of the bed and tried again, gently easing my foot in without breathing.
It was the pantyhose. I’d ripped them. That had to be it. I could breathe again if it was just the pantyhose. I stood up to check the mirror but shut my eyes. I couldn’t look, but I had to – I had to know the worst. I slowly opened one eye. Everything looked fine, so I opened the other. Oh no.
The side seam had busted. Not just ripped but burst apart like my arse was so big, nothing could contain it.
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