Page 5 of Insta-Hubby
“Oh, Julietta,” Maggie says carefully, as though she’s finally catching onto what’s happening, “size doesn’t matter. It’s just a number. And I know how stressful wedding dress shopping can be. I work with brides every day. Plus, wedding dresses do run slightly differently than street clothing.”
“This isn’t stressful,” Julietta says, taking a sip of her champagne and sitting down carefully on the edge of one of the couches. “It’s just that we are clearly not the same size. No offense to you,” she adds, raising an eyebrow to me in the mirror.
I’ve heard this before. A bride who wants to be skinny and what she thinks is beautiful on her wedding day. Sometimes they have an interesting way of showing it. And I don’t let it hurt my feelings.
Oh, it’s hurt once or twice in the past. I’ve been called fat - not to my face, but I’ve overheard bridesmaids ask why they had abiggergirl trying on dresses for their friend - and that used to hurt, but now I let it just roll off my shoulders. Mostly.
What Idon’tappreciate is when the brides make a scene. That’s the thing that really irks me. And I know Maggie doesn’t like it either.
“No offense taken,” I say back to her, smiling sweetly. “Everyone’s different.”
“But,” Maggie says carefully, “you two do have almost the same measurements. And Julietta, I’m not going to make you do anything you’re not comfortable with, but you may want to try this dress. It might surprise you. Evenwiththe same measurements, it may fit slightly differently.”
Julietta clears her throat and slides back on the couch, crossing her arms across her chest and taking a sip of her champagne. She should probably slow down because it’s barely past noon on a Saturday, but it’s certainly not my place to tell this woman I’m technically at the service of to have a glass of water, especially when she’s already pissed off at me.
“I have been on a diet for the last six weeks in preparation for this appointment,” she says, tensing her jaw. She’s so pretty, andnaturallypretty at that, with full lips and perfect, slightly-thicker eyebrows, and thick brown hair, though she would look prettier if she just relaxed. “I have been eating vegetable soup every day for lunch and dinner, and boiled eggs for breakfast. Boiled eggs. Boiled eggs!”
“Okay,” Maggie breathes, clasping her hands together, “why don’t we just move on to a different dress? And I can have one of the alteration associates run another size to us while we look at a different dress.”
Julietta stands up. She’s not happy. She looks freakinglivid, which is a bit of an overreaction. Iknowwhat she is going through, trying to eat only certain foods and do certain things and restrict your activity to get the body that you’re going for, but gosh, she is really taking this to another level.
Julietta starts walking toward me, putting one of her toned legs in front of the other carefully, and I can see that she is attempting to walk delicately in her white stilettos, but she’s more wobbly than she probably realizes.
And she gets closer. Does she want tohugme? Why’s she walking toward me like this?
“Julietta, um, why don’t we move on to another dress?” Maggie says, stepping toward us.
“You’re just so pretty,” Julietta says to me, her shoulders beginning to hunch over, “and you seem soconfident. Iknowwe’re the same size, it’s just that...I wish I liked how I look as much as you do.”
She’s going to start crying. Iknowshe is going to start crying at any moment.
“No Julietta,you’reso pretty,” I say, putting my arms out to her as she gets closer. “I don’t love how I look every single day.”
And the rich chick throws her arms around my neck, puts her head in the crook of my neck, and startsbawling.
“Oh sweetie, don’t cry!” I say, patting her on the back.
Is this really happening?Sheis leaning onmefor emotional support?
“I don’t feel confident every single day,” I say, “I don’t love how I look at all times. Hell, I almostneverlove how I look. I’m gettingpaidto stand up here and smile. Sweetie, don’t cry.”
I catch Maggie’s eye as she comes toward me with a bottle of water, and Julietta pulls away from me, sniffling, wiping beneath her eyes with her perfectly manicured fingers.
“Honey, why don’t you sit down and relax for a minute?” Maggie says, putting her hand softly on Julietta’s back. I know she doesn’t want mascara on the dress. “Here, have some water. Do you want anything else? A bag of nuts or a granola bar or anything?”
We bring Julietta over to the couch and she sits down, looking pretty even though she’s crying. She actually lookscutecrying.
“I will run out and get you something,” I say, kneeling down in front of her. Her eyes are red and wet with slick tears, but she is trying her best to reign it back in.
“A pretzel?” she asks, her eyes peering down as she wipes her eyes again. “I could go for a soft pretzel.”
“My girl is getting a pretzel then,” I say, crossing the boutique to grab my purse from my cubby behind the counter. “One soft pretzel coming up.”
“Justpleasebe careful in the dress,” Maggie says, eyeing me up and down. “It might just be a sample, but we don’t want mustard on it.”
I grab a few bucks from my purse and start toward the door, and as I leave the shop, the soft bells over the door chime, mixing with the sounds of the busy street outside.
The day is perfect. It’s warm and fresh and mild, and I can smell springtime in the air.
