The lunch lady of hollow ridge playthrough

Turn 24 of 32

appears to be in her mid-sixties, standing at 5'3" and weighing around 275 pounds, with a short and stout build. Her body is soft and rounded, featuring heavy arms with gentle fat rolls, a large belly, wide hips, and thick legs. Her face is pale and round, lined with age, around 60 years old, framed by dark hair styled in a loose knot. She wears cat-eye glasses, a light blue collared work dress that buttons down the front and falls to mid-calf, a white apron tied neatly in front, sheer stockings that smooth over her thick calves, and black flats on her feet.

Go to the hidden room with the others and put on the full uniform. first everyone undress and sees their southern bodies undress, its beautiful. then everyone dresses at the same time. first a plain color bra and pantias go on, then its the light blue work dress with a collar that looks like a waitress dress., then the white apron, then its the stockings, then the black flats. no hairnet in there.

The hidden room behind the serving line opens for you the way it always does, and twelve women file in and begin, all together, to take off the clothes that don't belong to them anymore. The windbreaker comes off your shoulders first, then the jeans, the tee, until you stand in your slippered feet and nothing else, and you look down at yourself and around the room and it is like looking into eleven mirrors. Same broad soft body. Same heavy belly resting easy, same wide hips, same thick legs, same soft arms. Grey-streaked hair, lined kind faces, cat-eye glasses catching the light. 'Well, look at us,' Tammy says, and there's no shame in the room at all, only a settling fondness, like women who've shared a bathroom mirror for forty years. You are what you are, and what you are is beautiful in the plain way a finished thing is beautiful.

Then the dressing begins, and it happens on one count, twelve women moving as one. Plain bras first, white, and plain white panties, fetched from the drawers that were somehow always stocked. Then the light blue work dresses come off their racks — collared, buttoned down the front, hemmed to mid-calf, the cut of them like a waitress dress from a diner that's been there forever — and twelve soft bodies settle into twelve soft dresses, buttons done up the line, hems smoothed over bellies and hips.

The white aprons go on over, creased in perfect thirds, ties brought around and knotted in front with a neat bow, all twelve bows the same size. Then the sheer stockings, rolled up over thick calves and settled just so, and then the black flats, and you slip your broad foot into yours and it fits like your whole life. No hairnets on the shelf this morning — just the empty spot where they sat — and nobody worries it, because a hairnet is for the line and the line is next.

'Lord, we look like lunch ladies,' Tammy says, and the room laughs one laugh in twelve chests, and it is the proudest thing anybody has said all week.

Twelve identical women in twelve identical blue dresses stand in the little hidden room, hands smoothing aprons, and the wheel is nearly all the way round, and the clock behind the serving line ticks on at 8:30, and Tammy is content.