Last week, I decided to put an end to my stapled-together-pant-hem, and asked my husband to take the pants to a seamstress shop, just to fix the separated hem on one pant leg. I also decided to include a pair of pants that were too long to me, and asked him to have the black pants trimmed to the length of the gray pants, and to fix the hem of the gray-pants pant leg. Clear as mud?
He looked at me with slight panic in his eyes and asked, “so…what length should the pants be?” I waved the black pants around and said, “cut THESE to THAT length” and gestured to the gray pants. “And fix the stapled hem.”
I should have known that something went wrong when I called today and asked, “so, how much did it cost to get my pants hemmed?”
“Oh, ten dollars”
“Wow, that’s it, for two pairs of pants? See, this is why it’s so great to fix things up instead of throwing pants away and buying new ones!” I sat back and waited for him to smugly agree with me, but instead, there was only silence. A heavy silence. Finally, in a voice full of dread, he replied, “It’s ten dollars for…..one pair of pants. Which is all that you asked me to fix….right?”
I’m going to spare myself the recounting of that conversation, and I also will not relive the 10 minutes I spent crying about my pants and everything being ruined (the crying that prompted my husband to point out that, “nothing is ruined, and this kind of behavior would have landed our son in time-out, please stop crying”).
My gray pants, with the hem fixed, are long. Ready-for-a-giant-to-wear, long. And the decorative cuff, my favorite part of these Ann Taylor pants, is gone. The black pants are completely unchanged.
I have two pairs of pants fit for a 6 foot woman. Who wants them?