Battling Bridezilla: Material Girl – ‘Autumn Beauty’ Part 2

I arrive at the department store feeling curious and trepidatious (if that’s not a word then it should be). First challenge: Successfully negotiating the huge iron revolving doors without the help of The World’s Strongest Man. Who might well be that bouncer-type guy manning the entrance.

Once in, I survey the terrority. A cacophany of perfume, aftershave and humans zig-zagging their way across the store.

Plan: Show my ticket and get my prosecco and chocolate. Easy. I head for a man holding a tray with lots of bottles of fizz. Perfect.

Me: “Can I take one of these please?”

Man: “No, I’m sorry madam.”

Me: “But I have a ticket.”

Man: “You need a wristband first.”

Me: “Where do I get a wristband please?”

Man: (gesturing) “You have to join that queue.”

I queue for 10 minutes, feigning cool disinterest and pretending to check my phone. Eventually, I get to the front.

Man #2: “You’re in the wrong queue madam.

Me: “But other ladies here have tickets.”

Man #2: This is for people buying tickets, you already have one. You have to queue in the queue next to this queue.”

I queue for 15 minutes, feigning cool disinterest, and pretending to check my phone. Eventually, I get to the front.

I hand over my ticket. Another man is now by my side. He whips out a wristband like a hyperactive magician pulling a rabbit out of a hat.

“You must wear this AT ALL TIMES. DO NOT LOSE IT. YOU NEED IT FOR THE OFFERS.” Poof! Magician is suddenly teacher.

Ok then.

Free, finally. They’d actually agreed to unleash me on the shop floor. First thing’s first. I pick up my prosecco, smiling sheepishly at Man #1. Now what do I do? There are make up stalls. Lots and lots of them. Oh! There’s the chocolate. Happy days.

Then I spot some goodie bags, stacked in a row, their corners perfectly aligned. I go to pick one up but my conscience gets the better of me.

“Excuse me, are these bags free?”

Woman #1: “Yes they are madam. If you spend £70.”

Me: “Right. So they’re not free?”

Woman #1: “Yes they are madam. If you spend £70.”

Walk. Away. From. The. Bags.

Some aimless wandering and a bag of sweets later, I decide to take action. I stride purposefully up to one of the make up counters. Okay that was in my head, I didn’t. Woman #2 approaches me.

“Can I help you?”

Me: “Yes, I’m getting married next year and wondered if you do any makeovers?”

Woman #2: “We can offer you a 15 minute eye make-up lesson?”

Me: “Great, thank you.”

I tentatively perche on the stool, and am handed a round fairytale-like mirror. After numerous early shifts at work, what’s looking back it me isn’t pleasant.

Woman #2: “You have thirsty skin. You need to quench that thirst and wear more moisturiser.”

Thirsty skin? Don’t remember it waking me in the middle of the night to say ‘sorry love but I’m gagging for a pint of water’.

She gets to work, asking me to look up, look down, shut my eyes, open one, close the other, touch my toes, hold my eyelid. Quite complicated stuff. Also, I lied about one of the instructions. However, I’m pleasantly surprised by the transformation. So much so, I almost fall off the stool when I see what’s staring back at me. Admittedly, my eyes are streaming, having never ha a cake-load of make-up applied, trowel-style. But I like it. Hey, I almost fit in at this event now.

I leave the shop in high spirits, feeling very much the model as I swagger down the street, nodding my head to myself in an arrogant fashion. Yep, people are definitely noticing me more, I can feel it in my newly-painted, thirst-quenched skin.

First person to see the ‘new me’ is my fiance.

“Ta da!” I appear in the kitchen, proud and excited.

“Oh yes, very nice. You, em…look a bit like, er, that Cleopatra [turns away]. Fancy a cup of tea?”

Cleopatra? Not quite the look I was hoping for. Oh well. Egyptian-themed wedding it is…

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