Love, Life & Vodka

NOT SO FUNNY FUN BAGS

London, England

Kate sat fidgeting in her seat in the reception area of Malcolm Barnes’ office. Where the bloody hell was Jamie? It was nearly noon, and she hadn't arrived. Kate groaned inwardly and started twisting her hair; a nervous habit she’d developed during her student years. What would happen if Jamie didn't come? Kate felt sick. Just being there for the consultation made her want to do an about turn and run. She tried to focus on her surroundings; the offices were stark, taking the word minimalistic to a whole new dimension. The walls were white and the only furniture, apart from a few chrome chairs, was a small glass reception desk, which stood at one end. The receptionist sitting at the desk looked about a hundred-years-old; permanent wrinkles etched her face and Kate couldn’t help but think that she must be bloody good at her job because she certainly wasn’t there as an advertisement for the miracles that Malcolm Barnes could perform.

Suddenly, the door opened and Kate bolted upright with anticipation; that was until a sixty-something-year-old lady walked in with bandages wrapped around her face. Hmmmm, not a tummy tuck then. The woman glanced in Kate’s direction, and Kate was sure that at that moment a flicker of disgruntlement crossed her face.

Just as the door closed it lurched open again, and this time in walked Jamie, like a gust of warm summer air. Glorious, stunning, but extremely skinny. Kate had been shocked on the beach, but put it down to never having seen her in a bikini before. But Kate didn’t ever recall seeing Jamie look this skeletal in clothes. Today she was wearing white jeans with a white vest, and a light cream and very chic cardigan—if you could call something so stylish a cardigan—on top. But the loosely woven fabric hung lifeless, as if it were three sizes too big. Jamie looked like a scarecrow, albeit a very chic and glorious one, and Kate knew she’d need to address this with her. Just not now. Now, she was close to hyperventilating with her own drama.

Whilst relief flooded through Kate at Jamie’s arrival, she couldn't help but laugh at the reaction of the other woman whose jaw—had it not been restricted by bandages—would certainly have dropped to the floor. If the woman had been confused at seeing Kate, then she was completely flabbergasted at seeing the vision that was Jamie King.

“Darling, I’m so sorry. Am I late? Have you been waiting long? Are you okay? Oh gosh, it’s soooo good to see you,” Jamie gushed without taking a single breath, as she rushed over to hug Kate, oblivious to both the secretary and the other woman who were both glowering at her.

Hugging her so tightly that she could feel her bones through her clothes, Kate was awash with relief. “Oh, Jamie. I was just beginning to panic. I think I’m going to be sick. I'm so nervous.”

“Don’t worry hun, you’ll be fine. It’s only a consultation. Look, if you don’t feel comfortable, then you just won’t go through with it. Okay?” Jamie reached over and grabbed Kate’s hand and Kate relaxed, a smidgen.

“How’s it been since you got back?” Kate tried to take her mind off the impending appointment.

Jamie groaned and slumped her shoulders. “Okay.” She didn’t elaborate.

Without waiting for Jamie to reply, Kate probed further. “Go on. Are you still seeing Cameron? Did you meet Karl?”

“Let’s not discuss me now … and anyway, I never said I was interested in Karl, that was your idea, remember?” Jamie flicked her hair as she made some sort of huffing sound.

“Mrs Buchanan, Mr Barnes will see you now,” the receptionist called out.

Jamie grinned as she jumped up from her seat a little too eagerly. Dragging Kate by the hand she whispered, “Let’s focus on you now.”

Reluctantly, Kate found herself being hauled into Mr Barnes’s office. What had seemed like a good idea on the beach after a pitcher of Cosmopolitan was rapidly disintegrating into an extremely bad one. The consultant’s room was large, warm and inviting; a stark contrast to the reception area. With its smattering of antiques and large, sage green Chesterfield sofa, it resembled the foyer of an old country house estate. An Edwardian mahogany desk with a green leather surface dominated one corner of the room, with Mr Barnes seated behind it, who immediately stood up to greet them. In his late fifties, Mr Barnes seemed calm and approachable, and Kate felt slightly less nervous.

Taking his outstretched hand, Kate shook it. “Hi, I’m Kate, and this is my friend Jamie.”

“Pleasure to meet you both. Please take a seat.” Mr Barnes pointed towards the two cream bucket chairs on the other side of his desk. Jamie perched on the edge of her seat, keen to get started, whilst Kate sat as far back as she could.

“So tell me, Mrs Buchanan, how can I help you?”

“Well …” Kate hesitated, searching for the words. It felt strange to be talking about one’s breasts and tummy to a stranger; and a male stranger at that. Jamie kicked her, spurring her into action. “I’ve had two children and put on huge amounts of weight with each but I know I’m definitely not having any more now. I’ve exercised and dieted, but my breasts are just so loose and floppy and my tummy looks even worse; like some sort of Sponge Bob Square Pants inflatable toy.” Kate was pleased with herself, feeling that for once in her life she'd been witty and concise.

Mr Barnes seemed to miss the humour of her analogy and merely smiled and nodded his head as he made some notes. Kate opened her eyes wide and looked at Jamie, who was finding it hard not to laugh out loud. They both exchanged a look that said, ‘nice man, no sense of humour.’

After taking a brief medical history, Mr Barnes stood up. “Come this way please Mrs Buchanan. Let’s have a look at you.”

Kate was panic stricken. What? Look? Look at her ravaged body? Oh, this was horrible. But of course he had to look; he was hardly going to perform the surgery blindfolded. However, the reality of having to undress and let this man scrutinise her in all her glory felt more horrifying than her memories of sitting down for her Chemistry A-Level exam.

Mr Barnes walked towards the far end of the room and pulled back a black curtain, revealing a huge screen that took up most of the back wall of his office. Kate sat rigid in her chair, her body numb, her stomach churning. For the second time that morning, Jamie gave Kate a perfunctory kick and pulled her out of the chair, simultaneously pushing her towards the black curtain. Surely this was some kind of bad dream? Why was there a big screen? When she spotted the camera, Kate started to hyperventilate. Surely not? Surely it couldn’t be? Surely he wasn’t going to take a picture of her and … project it onto the screen? Arrrrgggghhhh . Kate, the woman who’d avoided looking in full-length mirrors for the last five years, was now about to be photographed in all her glory and displayed in Technicolour on a giant cinematic screen. Not just displayed but projected five times larger than life. Oh my god, this is a nightmare. No, worse than a nightmare, as there’s no waking up from it. Jamie was now tugging at her sleeve and propelling her towards the black curtain; the black curtain of truth and horrific reality.

The walk towards the curtain seemed to take forever as Kate dragged her feet, feeling reluctance consume her with every step. She felt like a prisoner on death row taking her final steps; she could almost hear the plaintive wails of ‘dead man walking.’ Finally reaching their destination, Kate held up her hand to stop Jamie.

“What’s wrong?” Jamie stared in disbelief.

“You. Stay. Here,” Kate said, turning on Jamie like a Rottweiler; so great was her distress at this point.

“You’ve got to be kidding?” Jamie was no doubt expecting to follow her inside.

“Do I look like I’m kidding? No bloody way you’re coming in here to witness this. You stay exactly where you are.” Good friends or not, it was one thing having to face your own demons, but who needed spectators to one’s shame? No, the fewer people who beheld the naked image of Kate Buchanan, the fewer people that would be psychologically scarred by its unveiling.

In a slightly softer, Rottweiler-turned-bunny manner, Kate turned to Jamie. “No, really, I’m fine.” Jamie hung her head and dramatically hauled herself back to the chair, slumped in rejection as if she’d regressed to the age of five and been sent to her room.

The black curtain now pulled closed, Kate slowly began to undress. Over and over, she told herself how Mr Barnes did this every day; he would have seen tons of women’s tits and she was sure he must’ve seen many tummies worse than hers, too. Kate felt the blood rush to her head and as if from some faraway place, she heard Jamie’s lament.

“Can I come in, please?”

“NO!” snapped Kate.

“Pleeeease?”

Ignoring her as best she could, Kate stood in her knickers and with more trepidation than having to do a twenty-mile hike in a pair of seven inch heels, waited still to have her picture taken. Almost immediately, her image was projected onto the screen and it was official; the only thing worse than looking at oneself in a full-length mirror was looking at oneself blown up to giant proportions.

“PLEEEEASE?” Jamie was still going at it.

Kate just stood in shock at the image she was faced with. So much so that she was no longer aware of Jamie’s pleas. Jamie took her silence as some sort of secret sign that entry through the black curtain was now admissible and came in. Kate was so speechless and horrified at the repugnant image that her ability to speak was rendered useless.

Jamie took one glance at her mortified friend whilst taking in the image on the screen and, conscious of Kate’s rising distress, showed no signs whatsoever of being psychologically scarred for life. Calmly taking control of the situation, Jamie directed her attention away from the screen and towards Mr Barnes. “So, what do you think?”

Mr Barnes leapt into action and, taking a black marker pen started to indicate problem areas on the screen. Kate thought, perhaps it would be easier just to get a great big pot of black paint and chuck the whole thing onto the image. “I can’t make you look like her,” he exclaimed, pointing at Jamie, his face quickly registering the inappropriateness of his comment, and mumbled something indistinct under his breath.

Duh . Kate resisted the urge to retort, ‘If I wanted to look like her, I’d have gone directly to God.’

As Malcolm Barnes started to talk, Jamie took out a notepad and pen, much to Kate’s horror. This wasn’t a university lecture. What the bloody hell was Jamie doing? Yet as Mr Barnes started to draw on the screen, he simultaneously began spouting out strange medical terms, which Jamie scribbled down furiously.

“For the stomach area, we can perform abdominoplasty; this will involve the removal of all that excess skin and the repositioning of the belly button.”

Jamie continued scribbling notes. Kate remained silent, still in shock.

“Well, there are two other possibilities. We can do what we refer to as a lower body lift, which will deal with these problem areas over here”—Mr Barnes pointed at Kate’s hips on the screen—“but that does mean there will be a scar going all the way around the body.”

Arrrrgggghhhh . What was going on? Yes, she had hips, she knew she had hips, but she liked to think of them as womanly, and besides she was still under the delusion that possibly, with diet and exercise, there was a chance to shift the hips and hence avoid the aforementioned 360-degree scar.

“And these”—he continued, now directing his full attention towards Jamie whilst concurrently marking the screen where her breasts were exhibited hanging limply—“we can lift these up. Plenty of tissue here so we wouldn’t need an implant, just a lift back to where they were pre-children. This is called a mastopexy.”

Kate woke up at this point, but the power of speech still eluded her. Somewhere inside she wanted to tell him that she didn’t want them where they’d been pre-children, as they’d already been droopy.

As Mr Barnes reached for a ruler, placing the ruler under her chin, he measured the distance from her chin to the current nipple position. “Hmmmm, just as I suspected. They’re about eight centimetres away from where they should be.”

Oh Lord, eight centimetres? Holy shit. There was no doubt about it; they were an awfully long way away from where they should be. The thought of having breasts in the correct position for the first time in her life gave rise to an unfamiliar burst of excitement, and taking one last look at the screen, Kate realised that she had to go through with it. She wanted to go through with it. She wanted her breasts eight centimetres higher and nothing was going to stop her. Miraculously, Kate found her voice again. “How long’s the operation?” Directing the question to Mr Barnes.

“Well, obviously it will depend on which procedure you have; the mastopexy can take anywhere between two to three hours and the abdominoplasty is around three and a half hours. However, should you decide to have the lower body sculpture and the mastopexy at the same time, then that will take even longer.”

Kate began to feel like she was in a Chinese restaurant. That will be one portion of upright tits to start with, followed by … hmmmm, let me see what I fancy? Ooh, I think I’ll go for the full lower body sculpture. Excuse me? What? Oh, that comes with a scar all the way round your body? Well no, I don’t fancy that after all thank you, I think I’ll just settle for the abdominoplasty. Kate’s thoughts had now turned to side portions of Botox to erase the wrinkles that were fast-appearing on her brow.

Whilst Kate got dressed, Jamie continued questioning Mr Barnes, “If she did decide to go through with the procedures, when would be the earliest date you could fit her in?” Clearly Jamie had been a shit hot secretary in a past life.

Mr Barnes casually flicked through a large diary on his desk. “As luck would have it, I had a cancellation this morning for a similar procedure in a few months’ time. I can do it on the thirty-first of October.”

Kate burst out laughing as she emerged from behind the curtain. Both Mr Barnes and Jamie glowered back at her.

“Hello? Halloween? You can’t seriously expect me to have surgery on that day?”

Jamie frowned back at Kate, mouthing a silent ‘shush.’

Mr Barnes ignored the comment. “Perhaps you’d rather have some more time to think about it? There’s no rush. We can easily sort something out for the beginning of next year.” He stood up, signalling the end of the consultation.

Kate couldn’t stop thinking about the eight centimetres difference and, in a moment of empowerment, fearful that she might change her mind, blurted out, “October thirty-first is perfect. Let’s do this.” She had to do this. She’d spent a lifetime hating her body. Enough. Jamie was speechless for the first time that morning.

Mr Barnes smiled and said, “Lovely, we will get that booked in for you then Mrs Buchanan, and send you the paperwork for the deposit.”

Kate had forgotten to ask how much it would cost, but surmised that it couldn’t be as much as a new car. Jamie guided the now-dressed but dazed Kate out into the reception area and back onto Harley Street.

“Bloody hell, Kate, you were incredible.” Jamie was clearly brimming with excitement; her voice had taken on a high trill.

Kate, suddenly returning to the real world. “Oh my god. Oh my god, Jamie. I can’t believe I just did that. Shit. I need to call David now.”

“Yes you did. And I thought he was just sensational.” Jamie turned her full attention to navigating herself and a somewhat dazed Kate across Baker Street. Thankfully, it was such a beautiful day as they’d planned to go and hang out in the park. Kate couldn’t wait to get there, there was too much noise and cars and it felt bigger and more intimidating than it ever had before. She needed space and nature … ASAP.

“I liked him … but Halloween, Jamie? I mean, I’m not superstitious or anything, but surely having major surgery on a day famed for ghouls and witches isn’t ideal?” Kate couldn’t help but snigger.

“Stop being so bloody ridiculous. It doesn’t matter what day it is. Besides, I think it’s quite apt. You’ll be wrapped up like a mummy anyway, so consider yourself dressed for the occasion.” Kate looked at Jamie and the pair exploded into fits of giggles.

“Anyway, October is perfect timing. You’ll be able to recoup over the winter and be all recovered and fabulous for next summer. Just picture it. No more swimsuits, Kate Buchanan, in a bikini. Actually Kate Buchanan in only little bikini bottoms with glorious upright titties thrusting proudly out for all to see. Yaaaaay.”

Crikey, Jamie was persuasive, just listening to her made Kate want it all the more.

“Plus, you’ve been wanting this for years and now he’s had a cancellation. It’s a sign. Why don’t you call David and see what he thinks too?”

“Okay, okay.” Kate was caught up in Jamie’s exuberance. Just being around her friend brought her previous feelings of empowerment surging back. She wanted to have upright titties, she wanted to wear a bikini. Goddammit she wanted to feel sensational and proud and fabulous and not like the freak that she currently felt she was. Yes. Yes. Yes. She’d call David immediately and ask him. No, she’d call David and tell him. Better. She was Kate Buchanan, woman supreme, ruler of the universe. Ahhhhhh , this was sooooo much fun.

Reaching for her phone, Kate dialled home and waited impatiently for David to pick up.

“Hello?” David eventually answered.

“It’s me,” Kate said, a little breathlessly.

“Sweetheart. How are you? How did it go?”

“Well, the meeting with the consultant was good; I liked him … a lot. And I really want to do it and he has a cancellation for October and I think I should have the boobs done at the same time as the stomach because it seems silly to have a lovely stomach that you won’t be able to see because the boobs are hanging eight centimetres down from where they should be and therefore obscuring it.” Kate’s words poured out of her mouth at a million miles an hour. She barely stopped to take a breath.

Jamie was making faces and thrusting her boobs out and Kate was giggling. Being with Jamie was like being a teenage girl with no worries in the world; she was very infectious.

“I think you should do it,” he proclaimed without hesitation.

“You do realise that it’s a six-week recovery time?”

“I think you should do it.”

“I’ll have to stay in England for at least two weeks.”

“I think you should do it.”

“I won’t be able to drive for six weeks.”

“I think you should do it.”

“We won’t be able to have sex for months.”

“I think we should think about it a little more.”

“Are you being serious?” Suddenly Kate wanted it more than anything; no sex for months and no guilt either … just fabulous. Yes, she wanted this operation now more than ever.

“No, I was kidding, really, Kate. If you want this and you trust this guy, then I’m behind you one hundred percent. Got to go, got a game in ten mins. Book it.”

“Love you.”

“Love you too; just want you to be happy.” And the line went dead.

Jamie looked at Kate. “Well?”

“He said, YES.” Kate grinned, but the realisation of this actually happening was also overwhelming. Whilst the anxiety bubbled away, Kate was determined to keep it at bay. She would not think about the operation, she would only focus on the result and she entered a dream-like state, trying to capture the image that Jamie had so beautifully portrayed. Her on a beach, in bikini bottoms.

“Kate?” Jamie was nervous that Kate was going to change her mind. “Are you alright?”

“Uff … yes. Sorry. I’m processing.”

“Don’t change your mind, Kate. Please.”

“I’m processing quietly,” said Kate, and then seemed to break out of her reverie, “Remind me again, why are we opting for a non-alcoholic moment?”

Jamie laughed. “Because I’ve got to go into the agency later and … I think I’m drinking too much.”

“And you decided that the day I was going to be traumatised by the image of a larger-than-life me, was the day that you needed to rein it in? Bloody marvellous.”

Jamie linked arms with Kate as they entered Regent’s Park.