Yessa, we-a sure-a, the tailor said in his thick Italian accent.
I had thought about hemming the skirts myself. And I had been thinking about reintroducing my sewing machine—the very same Singer Confidence machine that I bought last October when my daughter announced that she wanted to be an Ugly Doll for Halloween—after a minor sabbatical, to thread and fabric.
Up until last year's Halloween, most of the costumes that I had made for my children had been fairly simple, fashioned with hand stitching, velcro, hot glue, or double-sided tape. Really, it's not such a big deal hand stitching fluffy brown dog ears onto the hood of a grey sweatshirt. I rationed that making costumes was less expensive (seriously?) and more unique than purchasing an outfit from a catalog; vastly more satisfying then seeing another trick-or-treater wearing the same costume smeared all over with chocolate.
Only, last October I realized that a costume based on those quirky but adorable Ugly Dolls was going to be a bit of an undertaking. And would also require a bit of an investment. So I did a quick cost-benefit analysis—thinking of all the things I could easily whip up, darn, hem and rework, and all the money I'd save doing it myself—and when the Little One shopped around for just the right felt fabric and notions, I grabbed the perfect sewing machine, promising myself that I'd use it more than once. So many projects, so little time... it'll be a snap with the Confidence... and it'll practically pay for itself.
And what fun we had making this costume!
And later reincarnating it as a giant stuffed Ugly Doll...
Did I say minor sabbatical? Well, sort of. The machine has been sitting idle on a basement bookshelf for only nine short months. Where does the time go?
Come to think of it, I'm not really sure that I did consider the sewing machine when I dropped the skirts off at the Downtown Tailor (the one with the uptown prices). I'm not sure if I even contemplated that rudimentary cost-benefit analysis. I vaguely remember that I wanted the skirts hemmed quickly, and skillfully, and at the right price.
Does this hem look perfectly straight to you?
Are you sure?
Because I must have complete Confidence that I'm getting my money's worth; that the bottom of those skirt lines are absolutely, positively, one-hundred percent faultless. That those cost-benefit calculations of mine are right on. And that I shouldn't have, under any circumstance, done it myself. Anyhow, I couldn't possibly have hemmed them as well as a professional, right?
Net result: The hems have to be, simply must be, cheaper than last year's Halloween costume; the level edges of the skirts—pure perfection. And, after I dust off the Singer Confidence, this year's costumes will be a real steal.