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Yesterday, I picked up a bridesmaid dress and a pair of pants from a local tailor. The bridesmaid dress is one I chose; the bride, bless her heart, selected a color and a designer and told us, “Pick anything you like.”

For Jac, that means not long, not strapless. Because if a dress is short with some form of strap, I might actually wear it again.

This is what I chose:

When I put it on, it was a tad big in the boobs. Strapless bras are the invention of the devil, so my goal was to be able to go bra-less (I heart you, tiny tatas). I brought the dress, and a pair of pants, to a tailor and asked if she could:

  1. Make the dress tighter around my boobs so they wouldn’t pop out for an impromptu dance party, and
  2. Make the around-the-neck halter a touch shorter.

Tila Tequila (OK, her name is Tila, but everyone in town seems to refer to her by the reality-star’s moniker) drew a few lines on the dress in chalk as I modeled it.

For the TJ Maxx clearance black pants, she made a few marks on the back of the waistband. They fell on the hip, and I wanted them to fit my natural waist.

Fastforward a week and a half. Yesterday after work, I picked up my clothes. I put the dress on. Was it tight? I moved and wiggled and boogied in the dressing room to make sure moving and wiggling and boogying were options. I didn’t have any armpit fat. The dress didn’t stretch unattractively around me at any part. And then I realized … It wasn’t too small. It was just right. This is what a dress that fits perfectly feels like. It doesn’t gather or bunch or give unwanted chub. It just … fits.

((cue angels’ voices))

(You can bet your butt I’ll wear this bad boy again — I’m planning on my rehearsal dinner, assuming I don’t balloon up before May.)

When I tried on the pants, however, there was a bit of a problem. When I pulled them up over my butt, they got caught, and I heard a riiiip. When I fastened them, I was ecstatic to see that they fit perfectly on my waist — again with the “This is how pants should fit.” Normally when a pair of pants fit my waist perfectly, my thighs resemble The Incredible Hulk’s forearms just before he rips through yet another T-shirt.

This is how pants that fit in the waist and are tight in the thigh make me feel.

However, there at the top of the waistband where Tila had made her alternations was a 1-inch rip.

I showed her, and she offered to fix them on the spot.

“Well,” I said. “I think I ripped them. The zipper’s too short, and they don’t fit over my butt.”

“REALLY???” she asked. (Yes, I have a bubble ass. I like it, but it makes  perfect pants impossible). “Do you want me to let out the waist a quarter inch?”

When she finished, I tried the pants on again. If I suck in my butt like crazy, I can pull them up without ripping them … and they lay perfectly on my waist. No muffin top, with maybe a quarter-inch too much room.

I’ll take it.

Today, my pants look as  hough I’m preparing for the flood.

God, these are awful. I swear they’re not QUITE so bad when I’m standing.

I chose these in lieu of the ones that are so long, they cover my entire foot and pool on the ground.

I think maybe it’s time to take every pair of pants I own to Tila.

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