“Polly, what about all those extra pounds? Surely that’s a problem?”Dylan’s mother refused to let it go. “In my opinion, I don’t have anyespecially since my future husband doesnt mind. Not everyone has to be a waif or a stick insect,” Polly retorted, casting a mocking glance at Helena and Dylans mother. The sheer audacity made Helena flush with anger.
“Mum! Did you buy that slimming tea? The chia seeds? Why did you put so much butter in my porridgedo you want me to gain weight?! Dylan, did you buy that white bread again? Its terrible! And you *have* to drink three glasses of water in the morning, or the scales wont budgewheres my water?!” These were the sorts of tirades Dylan had endured since childhood.
His mother and older sister were perpetually obsessed with their figures. Now, at thirty-eight, his sister had never married and resembled nothing so much as a gaunt, hollow-eyed mare, always starving. His mother, meanwhile, was as straight and rigid as a knitting needle.
It wore him down so much that he was instinctively drawn to joyful, hearty peoplethe kind who actually enjoyed food. Hed always dreamed of a wife who was nothing like his mother or sister. And then he found her.
Her name was Polly. Even the sound of it was soft, pleasant, like a warm slice of cake. No, Polly wasnt thinat five foot eight, she weighed nearly fourteen stonebut every ounce of her radiated health and happiness. Curves in all the right places, a waist that dipped just so, dimples in her plump cheeks that begged to be pinched. The moment he saw her, Dylan was utterly smitten.
One evening, he dropped his sister off at the bank to run an errand. She took a ticket and sat in the designated chair while he wandered the lobby, waiting.
Then he heard ita laugh like silver bells. Quiet but infectious, it made him grin before he could stop himself. Drawn to the sound, he turned and saw her: the cashier, giggling at something an elderly customer had said. Dylan couldnt look away.
Her hair cascaded in waves, her lips curled like a bow, and yesshe was undeniably *ample*, in all the most delightful ways.
In the car, Helena droned on, but his mind was still back at the bank, with *her*.
“Dylan, are you even listening?” his sister snapped.
“Of course, Helena,” he lied, scrambling to recall her last sentence.
“So I told him, I dont eat fried meatonly boiled chicken breast,” she whined about her latest suitor. Dylan nodded sympathetically, clicking his tongue as if to say, *What a cad.*
The next evening, he raced back to the bank. She was therethank God. As soon as the doors closed, he fetched a bouquet of roses from his car and marched over.
“Excuse me, miss. Any chance youre in need of a husband? Or a son-in-law for your mum?” he blurted, thrusting the flowers at her.
His face must have been so absurdly earnest that she burst out laughingbut she took the roses.
“Oh mythese are gorgeous! The *smell*!” She buried her face in the blooms, inhaling deeply, while he just stared, enchanted.
From then on, they were inseparable. Sometimes you meet someone and *know*this is it, no more searching. For Dylan, that was Polly. He proposed within a month, and she said yes without hesitation. All that remained was meeting the parents.
Pollys family welcomed him with a feastpies, laughter, a cacophony of warmth. Her mother, a statuesque beauty, kissed him on both cheeks, flustering him terribly. Her father clapped him on the shoulder like an old friend and steered him toward the kitchen.
“Best stay clear of the women, or theyll talk you to death. But dont worryNatalie, Pollys mum, is sweet as pie. Thats why Ive loved her thirty years. And our Polly? Shes a gem. You take care of her, son,” her father said, fixing him with a steady look.
They spent hours at the table, eating heartily, swapping stories, singing along as Mr. Evans played the guitar. Dylan felt at home, as if hed known them forever.
Three days later, they visited Dylans family. On the way, Polly stopped at a patisserie for handcrafted eclairs. By five, theyd arrived.
Dylans mother, Margaret, opened the door.
“Ohhello, loves,” she stammered, gaping at Polly before catching herself.
“Mum, were here. Mind if we come in?” Dylan nudged her gently inside.
“Of course, dear. You must be Polly?” Margaret regained her composurejust enough to scrutinize Polly from head to toe.
“Thats me! So lovely to meet you.” Polly offered her hand, breezing past as Margaret stood frozen, bewildered.
“Dad, Helena, Mumthis is Polly, my fiancée. Weve filed the papers; the weddings soon. Polly, meet my family.”
The announcement left them stunned. Silence hung thick, broken only by the clink of cutlery.
“Well! Polly, welcome to the family. Is that a bottle? Brilliant! And pastriesthough those are for you ladies, of course,” Dylans father, Nigel, said jovially.
“Oh, no, we dont eat sweetscertainly not at night,” Margaret sniffed, pushing the box away.
“*You* might not, but we do. Lets have a look, eh? I trust Pollys taste,” Nigel boomed.
They settled at last, the table spread with chocolates, snacks, and sparkling wine. Glasses clinked, sips were takenand then, awkward quiet.
“Mum, Ive met Pollys parents. Lovely peopleyoull like them,” Dylan offered lamely. Polly studied her glass; Helena stared unabashedly. Nigel launched into a joke, easing the tension slightly.
“Polly, dear, you mustnt worryI know an excellent specialist. Shell help you sort out your… issue,” Margaret said suddenly.
“Issue? I dont have one.”
“Well, those extra poundssurely thats a problem?”
“In *my* view, theyre not extraespecially since my fiancé adores them. Not all of us aspire to be twigs.” Polly smirked, eyeing Helena and Margaret. The insult made Helena bristle.
“Polly, youre at least three stone overweight! Its unhealthy. And when you have children”
“When I do, Ill be even lovelier, with a husband and baby to adore. Speaking ofHelena, are *you* married? Surely a slender beauty like you has a dashing husband and a brood of children by now?” Polly bit into an eclair with relish.
Helena gulped, puffing up to retortbut Nigel intervened, refilling glasses.
“A toast! To the women of this familydifferent, but dearly loved.”
They left two hours later. Outside, they looked at each other, sighed in unison, then burst out laughing.
“Well. Didnt expect my future mother-in-law to call me plump.”
“Polly, love, youre *glorious*, and you know it. As for Mum and Helenaforgive them. Familys family, warts and all.”
The wedding was set for August 25th. At the registry office, friends and family gathered, then moved to the reception.
Polly shimmered in a gown that hugged her curves just right. Dylan couldnt take his eyes off her. Her mother, Natalieequally striking in an elegant dressdrew half the rooms attention, a stark contrast to Margaret, stiff in her sheath dress, or Helena, her spitting image.
The newlyweds danced their first dance as if no one else existed.
“Honestly, the bride could stand to lose a few. That dress isnt doing her any favours,” Margaret muttered.
Words, once spoken, cant be unsaid. Margaret likely wished she could swallow them backbut it was too late.
“Funnymost men dont fancy skeletons. They prefer *real* women. Your son, for instance. And *you*, Margaretbest watch your tongue. Im easygoing, but cross my daughter, and I cant promise Ill stay civil.” Natalie advanced, her ample bosom herding Margaret toward the wall.
The women locked eyesMargaret fearful, Natalie furiousuntil Mr. Evans swooped in.
“Ladies! Getting along famously, I see. But I must steal my wife for a dance. Margaret, dear, youll excuse us?”
He whisked Natalie onto the floor, the music swelling, laughter returning. The wedding carried on, bright and joyful.
May the couple live long, love deeply, and prosperfor in the end, thats what truly matters, isnt it?
