I sighed.
Then I got up when my name was called and walked to the dressing room.
The lady who was helping us smiled, opened her mouth to speak, but my mother beat her to it, “You’d better have been watching your calorie intake like I’ve been telling you all your life. You will not ruin the family pictures, Kimber Diane.”
I bit down on the inside of my cheek.
It wouldn’t do anything to argue with her.
Nothing I ever said seemed to register in that messed-up brain of hers.
I sighed.
I looked at the woman who was helping us and asked, “Ready?”
She smiled, then she winked, “Honey, if I had a body like yours, I’d buy stock in calories. You do you, girl. Your mother is whacked.”
I snickered.
“What’s your name?” I asked.
She smiled, “Helena.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Helena... wait... you're the owner. Aren’t you?” I asked. I recalled my mother mentioning something about the owner’s name being Helena.
She smiled, “I am. I had two girls call out today. I know it’s because of your mother.”
I winced, “I’m sorry.”
She patted my hand, “Don’t be. I only have to deal with her for a few hours. I’m sorry for you.”
I sighed. She didn’t even know the half of it. Of the constant being torn down for my appearance. Or of the constant meddlesome thoughts about how a lady should eat, walk, talk, dress... it was enough to make me pull my hair out at times.
Almost as if Helena could read my internal thoughts, I watched as she pulled a piece of candy from her pocket and handed it to me with a cat who ate the canary look.
I giggled as I took it, unwrapped it, and popped it in my mouth.
Seven minutes later, I had the dress on, and when Helena asked if I wanted to see what I looked like, I vehemently shook my head.
No. No, I did not.
See, I loved cotton candy.
Loved it.
But this dress.... well... I might have loved cotton candy, but I didn’t want to be an advertisement for it.
And with the poofiness of this dress and the circa eighties poofed sleeves, and the white gloves she insisted we wear... Cotton. Fucking. Candy.
However, despite not wanting to have the image of what I looked like,a giant fluff of pink cotton candy, seared into my brain, my mother beckoned me out.
With a sigh, I walked out of the dressing room, walked to the pedestal, and waited.
I didn’t have to wait long.
“You didn’t diet at all!” My mother screeched.
I winced.
