August 3rd, 1991
At home, England
Spent the morning with Sarah, at “the final fitting,” for the bridesmaid dresses she chose for Suzette and I.
“How it feels?” the seamstress said, jerkily zipping me into the dress.
“Fine,” I lied, continuing to suck in my stomach, whilst attempting to hold my breath, which I have to say is not an easy combination!
“Leetle tight,” she said, her heavy Russian accent doing nothing to mask her disdain.
“Uh-huh,” I uttered, afraid the zip would give if I dared say anything more.
“Heeps,” she stated, smacking my right hip, before undoing the zipper in one fell swoop.
“Yes,” I said, quickly stepping out of the dress. “I have hips.”
“Tut tut tut,” she clucked, staring me down. “Too much heeps.”
“Too much tongue,” I hissed, under my breath.
Sarah smiled in my direction. “What was that you said?”
“I was just saying how much I love my dress.”
“Aw, do you really love it?” Sarah cooed.
“Truly,” I smiled.
About as much as I can love something that clings to me and looks like regurgitated pastel crayons!