I went to a local seamstress after work tonight to finally be rid of the duct tape holding the hemlines together in most of my "nice" work pants. The seamstress was an incredibly cute, tiny Chinese woman who kindly scolded me for using duct tape of all tapes. We smiled. We laughed. I liked her.
Of the six pairs of pants I took in for repair, two of them were new and had never been exposed to the tape. Because of this, I had to try them on in the store.
I went in, changed and came out of the dressing room and realized I was "in line" behind another girl my age. (I still can't say "woman my age" because that would make me a woman.) Anyway, the other girl got up on the pedestal and directed the little Chinese woman as to how her pants should be hemmed.
It was one of those moments where, if anyone watching me, they would have been laughing hysterically at my facial expressions. That girl just kept telling that poor little woman to make her pants shorter and shorter, way above her 3-inch heels she was wearing.
My heart actually hurt. Not only for the perfectly good pants she was ruining, but also for the little woman who, no doubt, was cursing to herself, knowing that she would later have to tell that same customer that the hem is, in fact, where she requested.
I could never be a seamstress.
* I realize I received a mini sewing machine for Christmas. I also realize, however, that it's often best to be realistic in life.