Sewing Lesson

I am past thinking that it's clothes that get you the dance. Clothes are the glitter on the spun-sugar filigree on the frosting on the cake. It's the cake that gets you the dance.

Nevertheless.

Everyone at the Tango Colorado Hot Summer Nights milonga had better admire my top tonight.

I have been working on it since noon. I bought it at Goodwill, a short and sheer, black minidress with stars and vines embroidered on it in ivory thread. Very vintage. Very fragile. I'll wear it over a camisole and slacks. Very casual. Very elegant.

(The invitation to the milonga specified "casual-elegant" attire. Only in Colorado ... or on Project Runway.)

But the sleeves. When I reach up as if into the embrace, they go all cockeyed. Way too tight. I will slit them right down the middle, hem them back, and -- uh-oh. They look just like what they are: sleeves cut in half.

It's 2 p.m. It has taken me 2 hours to get this far.
6.5 hours to go until the milonga.

I know the effect that I'm after. Butterfly sleeves, fluttery things. I try pleating around the shoulders. Halfway down the sleeve. Gathers. Folds. Shirring. Cursing.

4 p.m.
Countless times in and out of this tight, fragile dress. If I am not careful, it will tear. Cursing is OK, but my touch has to be tender. If you've ever had a colicky baby brother, you know this routine: Gently singing, gently rubbing his taut, tiny back, gently begging him to please shut the hell up.

5:30 p.m.
Three hours until I have to leave for the milonga. It will take half that time to shower and primp and putz.

My buddy Marcus used to throw parties to watch Project Runway. When dark fell, he'd haul the big-screen TIVO-TV onto his oversize deck, and all 20-30 of us would pull up our chairs.

We liked audience participation: critiquing and gossiping and speculating on who would get the ax next. We also liked this game:

Every time they showed the clock, we raised our drinks, shouted CLOCK! and drank. It was exactly as sophomoric as it sounds.

5:38 p.m.
I wouldn't mind playing that game right this minute.

***

6:00 p.m.
Actually, Project Runway comes in handy as I'm altering these sleeves. Between CLOCK!s, apparently, I learned how to mess around with clothes.

Rule 1: Persevere until Tim Gunn says "Time's up!"
Rule 2: It's OK to tear out the stitches as many times as you like.
Rule 3: Or don't like, but must.

The umpteenth time I am standing in front of the mirror, disappointed in the results, this comes back: The Project Runway designers altered the clothes while the models were wearing them.

I grab a needle. This is a little different; I am playing both roles. There also is this: The least coordinated woman in the world is about to attack herself with needle and thread.

6:30 p.m.
Fronts of the sleeves are done. Now for the back. Clothes are not symmetrical, you know. Damn.

As it turns out, the backs go quickly. What I learned from doing the front applies in its own way to the back. How cool is that?

7 p.m.
I've been at this 7 hours.
1.5 hours left to shower and primp and putz.

Perfect!