Homework #6 -- Tight
“So, how does this feel?” Mary yanked on something behind me.My eyes must have bugged out a bit because her daughter Samantha burst out laughing.
“Uh.... tight.” I tried not to exhale too much for fear I’d never get my breath back in.
“Good. That’s how corsets are supposed to be.” She fussed with something, ostensibly tying the laces. I put my hand on my stomach, feeling the layers of fabric stretched taught between the metal stays. “Can you breathe? Try to breathe.” I gave it a shot. Singing an aria was right out, but I should be all right other than that.
“Yes, I can breathe.”
“Excellent. Doesn’t do to pass out at the altar. Sami, get Denise to bring in the dress, would you?” Still giggling, the little girl ran off into the dressing room, blond curls dancing along behind.
Mary walked around front, staring at me with a critical eye as she surveyed her handiwork. “You can stand up now, you know.”
I carefully let go of the bedpost and stood up straight, balancing cautiously on my new high heels. Thank God I’d put my shoes on first. I’d never be able to bend enough to see my feet. I drew in a slow breath and let it out again, as much for practice as anything. Teetering slightly, I turned around and took a step toward the mirror.
“I swear, your waist is so tiny in this thing. I may have to let the laces out to make sure the dress isn’t too big.” She frowned.
“You’re sweet, but I’m sure that’s not going to be...” My voice trailed off as I looked in the mirror. I’d worn my slip under the corset to make sure it stayed put, as there wasn’t going to be much bending over going on until the ceremony was done.
A stranger stood there before me: a woman with auburn curls artfully arranged, flushed lips and cheeks, with a figure straight out of a turn-of-the-century Ladies Home Journal, a pale pink silk brocade corset over a snow-white cotton slip. White stockings and heels completed the picture, rendering me altogether unrecognizable to myself. “... A problem,” I whispered. “Holy corset covers, Batman.”
Mary laughed. “You never do really look at yourself, do you?”
“Even if I did, I wouldn’t see this person looking back.”
“Well, maybe so.” Denise came in with the dress, a frothy cloud of tulle and taffeta and God-knows-what. “Arms up,” Mary said, and she and Denise slipped it all over my head. “Careful of the hair,” she said, her voice muffled to me through what seemed like half the former contents of the fabric store. A second later, the dress was down, the skirt being smoothed over my hips and some amount of fastening going on behind me.
Denise said, “I told you it’d fit fine.”
“Yes, yes.” Mary answered.
“It seems almost a little big. Are you sure those laces aren’t too tight?”
“It’ll be fine.” Mary fluffed out my skirt, and another pair of hands attached a veil to my hair.
The sheer amount of white suddenly in the room and on my person was blinding. I looked at myself in the mirror again, but I couldn’t seem to see. It was all just a blur. I wondered what Ben would think when he saw this stranger walking down the aisle toward him. Dark spots rose in my vision.
“Mom!” Samantha yelled.
Mary looked up, startled. I heard a muffled curse and then hands guided me down to a seat. Somebody pushed my head down toward my feet - bending at the hips, of course, because bending at the waist was right out. “Damn. Hold on a sec.” Fabric pulled strangely, and then air came whooshing into my lungs.
The whole thing seemed riotously funny. I snorted a laugh through my nose, which made me giggle harder. Samantha chortled somewhere over to my left. I turned my head and looked up at Mary, whose cheeks were bright red. “I did say it was tight.”
Mary smiled, despite being flustered. “It’s supposed to be.” She glanced over at Denise and smirked good-naturedly. “Well, maybe not that tight. Fine.”
I carefully sat up, Denise supporting me as I did. “Well, let’s get me back together, then. Time to get married.”
“Uh.... tight.” I tried not to exhale too much for fear I’d never get my breath back in.
“Good. That’s how corsets are supposed to be.” She fussed with something, ostensibly tying the laces. I put my hand on my stomach, feeling the layers of fabric stretched taught between the metal stays. “Can you breathe? Try to breathe.” I gave it a shot. Singing an aria was right out, but I should be all right other than that.
“Yes, I can breathe.”
“Excellent. Doesn’t do to pass out at the altar. Sami, get Denise to bring in the dress, would you?” Still giggling, the little girl ran off into the dressing room, blond curls dancing along behind.
Mary walked around front, staring at me with a critical eye as she surveyed her handiwork. “You can stand up now, you know.”
I carefully let go of the bedpost and stood up straight, balancing cautiously on my new high heels. Thank God I’d put my shoes on first. I’d never be able to bend enough to see my feet. I drew in a slow breath and let it out again, as much for practice as anything. Teetering slightly, I turned around and took a step toward the mirror.
“I swear, your waist is so tiny in this thing. I may have to let the laces out to make sure the dress isn’t too big.” She frowned.
“You’re sweet, but I’m sure that’s not going to be...” My voice trailed off as I looked in the mirror. I’d worn my slip under the corset to make sure it stayed put, as there wasn’t going to be much bending over going on until the ceremony was done.
A stranger stood there before me: a woman with auburn curls artfully arranged, flushed lips and cheeks, with a figure straight out of a turn-of-the-century Ladies Home Journal, a pale pink silk brocade corset over a snow-white cotton slip. White stockings and heels completed the picture, rendering me altogether unrecognizable to myself. “... A problem,” I whispered. “Holy corset covers, Batman.”
Mary laughed. “You never do really look at yourself, do you?”
“Even if I did, I wouldn’t see this person looking back.”
“Well, maybe so.” Denise came in with the dress, a frothy cloud of tulle and taffeta and God-knows-what. “Arms up,” Mary said, and she and Denise slipped it all over my head. “Careful of the hair,” she said, her voice muffled to me through what seemed like half the former contents of the fabric store. A second later, the dress was down, the skirt being smoothed over my hips and some amount of fastening going on behind me.
Denise said, “I told you it’d fit fine.”
“Yes, yes.” Mary answered.
“It seems almost a little big. Are you sure those laces aren’t too tight?”
“It’ll be fine.” Mary fluffed out my skirt, and another pair of hands attached a veil to my hair.
The sheer amount of white suddenly in the room and on my person was blinding. I looked at myself in the mirror again, but I couldn’t seem to see. It was all just a blur. I wondered what Ben would think when he saw this stranger walking down the aisle toward him. Dark spots rose in my vision.
“Mom!” Samantha yelled.
Mary looked up, startled. I heard a muffled curse and then hands guided me down to a seat. Somebody pushed my head down toward my feet - bending at the hips, of course, because bending at the waist was right out. “Damn. Hold on a sec.” Fabric pulled strangely, and then air came whooshing into my lungs.
The whole thing seemed riotously funny. I snorted a laugh through my nose, which made me giggle harder. Samantha chortled somewhere over to my left. I turned my head and looked up at Mary, whose cheeks were bright red. “I did say it was tight.”
Mary smiled, despite being flustered. “It’s supposed to be.” She glanced over at Denise and smirked good-naturedly. “Well, maybe not that tight. Fine.”
I carefully sat up, Denise supporting me as I did. “Well, let’s get me back together, then. Time to get married.”