There has been another spate of small alteration jobs. It is not surprising, since there was a high school dance last week. Mothers and daughters went shopping en masse, in search of the perfect dress. Parameters for such a purchase include lush fabrics, a tailored fit, a design unlike anything a friend is wearing, compliance to school dress code, and a sale rack. If it sounds like finding a needle in a haystack, well it is.
Fortunately I know where my needles are, and can shorten, tighten or let out those garments that are less than glovelike. Some fixes are simple. Others not so much. Moving a zipper, for example, is more complex than increasing a side seam. Hemming is easier than adding length without it ending up looking like a tacky garage slapped onto a duplex.
Plus there is that touchy subject of a sixteen year old girl's self image. Despite the fact that she is at the pinnacle of physical beauty, she is mildly obsessive about her wardrobe. It would be futile to try to explain that her date will not be looking at the one inch below the armhole. She is relentless about the need for it to lie flat. The boys in the room will indeed be cognizant of her looks, but less about the clothes than what is under them.
When girls come to pick up their modified dresses, they hold them up, trying to compare the reality on the hanger with the picture in her mind. It does not always match.
While I have managed to stay away from bridal wear, seamstresses who step into that world of frenzied expense and expectations say it can be... rough. A bride wants a gown that is full without making her look fat, strapless without falling down, with a skirt that brushes the floor without tripping her.
Which is why I stick to quilts.
The other day I was despondent about chores. While I began motherhood with the lofty belief that my children would cheerfully chip in to the mundane tasks inherent to living in a house, that has not been fully realized.
I suppose when the music of my life stops, I might begin to understand that what truly matters is not so much the glamour of my living room, as the underlying way I treat the people who sit on the couches.
