A new form of Bridesmaid hell

So I got an urgent call from my agent the other day, informing me I had an audition in less than two hours for the role of the non-speaking bridesmaid on a new CBS pilot.

Clearly, with eight times the experience I was sure that this role should be mine.  And I didn't have to prep a thing - which was a relief.  And to my (non) surprise, I got it!

Now non-speaking is a lovely term for glorified extra - why they cast real actors who get paid much higher than extras for an extra role is beyond me.  But who cares?  I get three days, good pay and my own trailer.

I thought it ironic that after all my bridesmaid days of yore, I was finally getting the financial compensation I deserve (this job is paying not only the price of three dresses, but at least half my trip to Cuba where I am going to be bridesmaid #7 - seventh time, not number 7) and I am well-practiced to the role as 'fake-laughing', look excited girl.  

But then a new bridesmaid horror crept in on set (and no, it wasn't the 6am call), it turns out that I am the fattest girl on set.  Seriously.  I felt bad eating.  The girl who plays the bride, the maid of honour girl, and the other three bridesmaids (two of which are actual extras - I really don't get why I had to audition) are sticks.  Teeny Tiny Sticks.  When I went in for wardrobe, the French wardrobe lady loved how my curves filled out the dress.  Now I know why.  On me, the dress is quite tight and shows off my bum and hips.  On the others, it is A-line.  Pass me a freaking carrot stick.

Now the only thing worse than being the fattest girl, is feeling bad about being the fattest girl.  For heaven sakes, I fit the freaking dress!  I curve it out!  And yet I feel ashamed that my arms are pipes and not twigs.  I feel ashamed my face is round and my cheeks full.  And I feel ashamed that I pretended not to want a slice of pecan pie when really I did.

This is the shitty side of acting.  Everyone on set is lovely, the fellow actors are funny, and Bill Pullman is an amazingly intelligent man.  So why should I feel bad that my thighs are the size of everyone else's waist?  I keep the mantra "Kate Winslet is Beautiful' repeating in my brain.

Okay, that is my rant.  I am going to the StairMaster now.  Or maybe I will get some cheese.  Either way, I resolve to show up tomorrow proud of who I am and not apologizing for who I am not - a crazy stick insect.  Okay, just stick insect, perhaps I am a teeny bit crazy.