It’s a size 6 dress, I remind myself—a size 2-4 by US standards. With my recent weight loss, I’m currently an Australian size 20. Even with the more flattering US sizing, that’s still a size 16-18. That gown will only cover about half my butt. Isabella looks at the off-white and silver thread creation like she thinks the same thing about herself. Something irrational twists in my stomach.
“I’ll help you with the zip,” the staff member says as she and Isabella walk back to the change stall.
Penny and I follow them, returning to our seats. My leg shakes while I wait, like an expectant father in a waiting room.
Please don’t suit her. Please don’t suit her.
“It’s too tight, Penny,” Isabella calls out to us from behind the curtain, and I release a sigh of relief. “I wouldn’t be able to walk all day in this.”
Isabella emerges from the change stall with the sales clerk holding the dress behind her, probably because it won’t zip up.
My heart sinks. She looks gorgeous. And judging by her expression when she finally catches sight of herself in the full length mirror behind us, she likes it too.
“Oh, wow.”
Penny jumps out of her seat like an excited puppy. “You like?”
“It’s gorgeous. But it doesn’t close at the back.” Isabella turns around and shows us the zip agape by two inches.
“That’s what, half a size? You can do it. You have four months,” Penny says.
We all turn to the store clerk.
“Most brides lose weight for their big day,” she says vaguely like she’s worried we might sue her if she takes a stand either way.
Isabella looks at her reflection again.
“What do you think, babe? Don’t you just love it?” Penny enthuses.
“I do, but I’m already fifty-seven kilos. That’s pretty light for me. I don’t know how much lighter I should get. Besides, Byron and I negotiated how much I can spend on the wedding gown and bridesmaid’s dresses. Technically, if I got this one and it doesn’t fit, I would have to buy a second hand replacement from a charity store.”
***
“I can’t wear this, babe.” Penny puts the full-length gown with the heart-shaped neckline against her body and looks at herself in the floor to ceiling window. “You’re getting married in a church, right? This is a wardrobe malfunction waiting to happen.”
Isabella nods and Penny puts the grey chiffon dress back on the rack. I watch the bride-to-be bite her lip, the excitement of gown shopping with us gone about half an hour ago. We’ve been looking for dresses in Brisbane City for two hours and counting. She’s been too polite to say it, but it’s difficult to find nice dresses that fit larger bridesmaids, much less, flattering ones. Mia and Penny are probably the thinnest at size 16. With my height, boobs and hips, I’m next at an Aussie size 20—18, if the store is generous. And mum-of-three Fiona is a size 24. Most of the gown shops only have dresses up to a small size 14. Some have size 16, but we are yet to find anywhere that sells formal dresses bigger than that.
Talk about a hole in the market for Miz Peggy to fill.
Fiona takes another bite of a celery stick as we exit the store. She’s brought with her a little sealable plastic bag of snacks which she’s carrying in her purse. I’m not sure if this is some kind of last minute dieting but it’s not working.
“How about something from the net?” Penny suggests outside a dress shop we don’t even bother entering. Everything in there looks too small.
“But we won’t know what the fabric’s like, and whether they’ll fit properly.” Isabella bites her thumb, thinking. “Maybe we can find a bridal shop that custom-makes gowns to size.”
That sounds expensive to me. Thank God Isabella is paying for all our dresses, and we just have to buy the matching shoes.
“Maybe we can just buy something from Target. They have bigger sizes,” Fiona offers. She’s been blushing and dejected for the last two hours. I don’t blame her. We’re all frustrated and she’s the hardest one to find anything for. She takes out another celery stick and chews on that. Judging by her grimace, it tastes as awful as it looks.
Isabella turns to Mia, Penny and me. She’s too much of a snob to get her bridesmaids’ dresses from a discount department store, but everyone is tired and no longer feeling attractive. We’d all started with such high hopes. Even me. Like the four Sex and the City women, with their married friend, about to hit the shops. But now…I can almost hear Isabella wondering if we would be agreeable to calling it a day.
“We could check out Stones Corner. They might do dresses there to fit.” My voice sounds gruff, even to me. I’m still sore that she bought my dress this morning. It doesn’t matter that the mermaid-style wedding gown wouldn’t have fitted me. Nor looked good on me. It’s a metaphor, and something else to add to the list of things I saw or wanted first that Isabella always seems to get. “And there are cafés there for afterwards,” I add.
After all the ill-fitting clothes and florescent lighting, everyone’s just looking forward to sitting down and having coffee.
***
How many fat chicks can you fit in a Mini Cooper? The answer: five because fat is pliable. We squish back into Isabella’s British car with Fiona in the front passenger seat. Penny is in the middle backseat because she’s top heavy, Mia on the left is bottom heavy, and I, on Penny’s right, am just heavy all over. Thank goodness it’s a mid-July winter afternoon because we’re like sardines in here.
It feels weird being in the same car as my ex-classmates from high school. It’s like we’re still students and our parents allowed us to go out. Well, allowed the others. My dad never
