What is Committed? Well, if you've ever planned a big wedding, you know how stressful it can be. Committed takes place starting the week before 27-year-old Ella Mikowski's wedding, and each day a disaster strikes. Mix this up with a little family drama and some misunderstandings between the bride-to-be and the groom-to-be, and you have some serious drama.
So how about a look at the first episode?
“Ugh, what is that smell?” Layla asked, wrinkling her perfect nose.
We’ll do the favors this afternoon, so that will be out of the way. We still have to put together the seating chart, but the place cards are done—I still need to check and make sure the name of that friend of Masato’s is spelled correctly. Did I remember to call and give the caterer the final dinner count?
“Smell?” Ella asked, tearing herself away from her mental checklist. Sniffing, she caught a strange, acrid odor that made her nose burn. “Oh my God, it’s awful.”
Pushing up the dryer hood, Layla leaned forward and sniffed again. Frowning, she leaned to her right and took another long whiff before leaning to her left—Ella’s direction—and inhaling deeply once more. Her gaze snapped to Ella, who felt a sudden, chilling sense of alarm.
“What is it?” Ella asked, scrambling up in her chair, the fashion magazine she’d been pretending to read tumbling from her lap and onto the floor, its pages a bright pool on the pale stone tile.
Without responding, Layla leaned closer to Ella and sniffed again. Her mouth opened and her eyes widened, her hands moving so fast they were a blur. It took Ella a minute to realize Layla had pushed her dryer hood away and was tugging frantically at the foil strips in Ella’s hair.
“What are you doing?” Ella squealed, trying to slap her friend’s hand away, but she underestimated Layla’s tenacity. Her friend continued to pull the foil strips from Ella’s hair while Ella protested. “It’s not done yet! You’ll ruin the color. Layla!”
But Layla’s eyes had widened, a look of horror creeping into them, and the alarm Ella had felt congealed and hardened into a lump in her stomach. “Oh, God, is it my hair?” Ella’s voice rose with each word until she sounded like a siren.
“Oh, Ella. Oh, no. Oh, oh, oh,” Layla babbled as she continued to strip Ella’s hair, her fingers moving faster than ever. Ella tried to lift a hand to her hair, but Layla knocked it aside with a forearm. Ella’s eyes landed on one of the strips in Layla’s hand, and what she saw horrified her.
“My hair! Is that my hair?” Ella shrieked, her voice taking on an hysterical edge.
They were causing a commotion, but Ella didn’t care. She was far more concerned about the sight of her reddish-blond locks dangling limply, obscenely from the bit of foil in Layla’s hand.