button it up,” I shouted.
“What? Is that it? Don’t worry, I’ll get you the bigger size.” She dashed inside the store and before I could blink, she was back, “Open the door and take it. It will fit you.”
Moved by her inhumanity and fueled by anger, I pulled open the door with as much force as possible.
“Don’t you understand the seriousness of this situation?” I hissed while standing in the doorway in my plain white T-shirt and undone shorts.
“You are overreacting. It’s not a big deal. It’s just a bit tight around the waist,” she said nonchalantly as if trying a size bigger than your regular size was no big deal. Listen to this girl.
“It’s not just a bit tight and you still don’t get it,” I couldn’t believe that she couldn’t see the severity of the situation.
I opened my mouth to say something but couldn’t find my voice. Before I could control the building lump in my throat, I broke into sobs which in no time became uncontrollable and utterly embarrassing for Anu. Her face went bright scarlet because of a fat, crying friend in the middle of the shop.
“OK. Let’s get you changed into your jeans and get you out of here,” her voice softened as she led me inside the trial room and shut the door behind her.
***
“I am sure you can find something in your closet,” Anu tried to cheer me up.
I was so embarrassed by my new and much bigger waist size that I wasn’t listening to her words. I was trying to sooth my wounds with a red velvet cupcake I had picked up on the way out of the mall.
“You all right?” She asked as she stopped in front of my apartment.
“Yeah,” I said flatly and hopped out of the car while balancing my purse on the nook of my elbow. How I could be all right?
“Shall I come and pick you up for the party?”
“No. It’s fine. I will see you there.”
***
A half-hour and two glasses of Pinot Grigio later, I succeeded to push the memories of the disastrous evening from my mind and dug out a ruby red tunic which I bought from my first salary but never got the chance to wear thanks to my limited social life. After spending nearly ten minutes under bearably hot water, when I peered into the mirror, I found a girl with a shiny nose and a fresh rosy complexion looking back at me with big, twinkly eyes.
Dressed in my ruby red tunic, I applied au natural makeup on my face, straightened my hair, slapped on a moisturizer-foundation concoction on the exposed parts of my body (one of the best tips I had picked up from the magazine) and slipped my feet into the black pumps which I bought in a sale last month but had never had the opportunity to wear either. Fine. I was lying. To be honest I was afraid that I would stain it with something ridiculous which would spoil its suede texture forever or worse; I might fall flat on my arse, which I would say had slightly more chances of happening considering the deadly combination of super high heels, bumpy Mumbai roads and my wobbly legs. But tonight I didn’t have any other option.
Before leaving the apartment I dashed into my room to take the one last look at myself in the full-length mirror on the wall just next to my not-so posh bed. How had I gained so many pounds and not realized it until this evening?
June 1
My heart was beating fast, my palms were sweating, my head was throbbing and I could feel my nerves shrinking. Oh shit! Was I having a heart attack? Panicking, I struggled to open my eyes because they seemed stuck together. After trying for a few seconds, I used my fingers to peel them apart and in the process felt something sticking to my fingers. Mascara. Gazing around the wastebin identical flat of mine, I was trying hard to think what I was doing lying in my bed when I should have been at a birthday party and oh my god what the hell was the sun doing out in the sky in the middle of the night. Before I could make the sense of anything, I felt something turning, tossing and churning in the pit of my stomach and attempting to come out. Hopping off the sofa I ran towards my bathroom, not here not here and fell flat on my face over the pile of empty pizza boxes. But I had no time to wince as my forehead smacked the ground, instead I hoisted myself up from the floor and barged into the bathroom, ran for the basin and vomitted. Yuk!
Three highly unpleasant minutes later, I gained some control over my trembling body. Clutching the sides of the cornflower blue washbasin, I tried to composed myself and shove some oxygen into my lungs. As I looked up I found myself staring into the flea market bargain mirror with a cheap wooden frame. Someone with smudged lipstick, runny-sticky mascara and violently screwed up hair stared back at me. Was that me? I wondered. It made absolutely no sense. In a half-numbing and half-wondering state, I grabbed the disgusting blue colored Listerine from the cabinet and rinsed my mouth.
Wandering back into the room, I tried very hard to figure out what exactly had happened. As my mind was doing an absolutely rubbish job of remembering anything, from the corner of my eye I caught a glimpse of the coffee machine. It was staring at me innocently and inviting me to have that one, tempting brew which might help me to understand that what the freaking hell I was doing in my flat when I should have been getting wasted over one too many drinks in a club. I headed towards the kitchen very carefully and gracefully, carefully avoiding the pile of empty pizza boxes.
Plugging in the coffee maker, I placed my favorite polka dot vintage coffee mug under the nozzle and set the timer.
“OK. So now what I am doing here? Why I don’t remember coming back to the apartment?” I asked myself and waited for some no-nonsense answer.
Precisely after one minute, the intoxicating brown liquid came flowing out of the nozzle and filled my cup to the brim but my question remained unanswered. Damn.
Flopping down on the sofa in the living room with a warm cup of coffee cradled between my palms, I stared into the distance.
What the hell was I still doing here? Did I pass out after that last glass of Pinot Grigio and not make it to the party?
No. That couldn’t be true. I remembered leaving my flat last night and somehow had a vague memory of someone sitting on Sameer’s lap.
Then? Could it be possible that I went to the party after all and passed out after getting wasted over one too many drinks?
But if I passed out on some dirty sofa of some dark, smoky club, how did I get home? I certainly didn’t have any memory of leaving the club or getting back to the apartment. While still ruling out various possibilities, I took a huge gulp of the coffee and as its bitterness touched my taste buds, I wanted to puke.
Very ungracefully, I was sprawled on my sofa in the dress from last night and smudged makeup when I heard the key turning in the lock. Before my mind could wander off to crazy imaginations, Anu walked into the flat in the same black and cream dress which we bought yesterday for the party, clutching two cups of Starbucks and a heavily laden brown paper bag.
“What are you doing here?” I asked while scrambling into a sitting position.
“Want some coffee?” she asked, completely ignoring my question.
“Never wanted it so bad.”
I had a feeling that something was very wrong. Terribly, ethically, horribly wrong.
“Here,” she passed me one cup, placed the brown paper bag on the table and gracefully arranged herself on the sofa besides me, carefully avoiding my gaze.
“What are you doing here? Why are you still wearing your dress from the last night?” I asked.
“Unfortunately I didn’t go to the party with an overnight bag because I had absolutely