I Guess Someone Does

I’m going to a wedding on Friday night. What to wear to these things is always a bit of a dilemma. The just-fancy-enough line is a fine one to walk. And spring makes it more difficult. I’ve got a dress that I’ve worn to quite a few weddings, but it’s pretty summery. And frankly, I feel a little bad for this dress that it’s been relegated to position of "go-to semi-fancy function dress" and that I sort of resent it for being my only option.

This finally got me to get my ass in gear. I bought a skirt at SVdP ages and ages ago, but it was too tight at the waist, in a cutting off all circulation to the lower half of my body way, and too loose everywhere else. The curse of the non-curvy girl.

Tuesday morning, me, my ass and my skirt got revved up and went to Joseph’s Tailor on Somerset St., where a very nice, nattily dressed man with a Russian accent has a small shop and does good work.

He fit me up, which required him being pretty far inside my bubble, and touching me much more than I’m usually comfortable with.* We finished getting personal, I got my other clothes back on and came out to pay. Plonked my bag down on the counter, took my wallet out.

He reached out and fingered the button on the front pouch of my bag. Started to read out loud: "Nobody knows I’m a." And stopped dead. The word "dyke" a blush across his cheeks.

He looked down at the counter. "Well, everybody’s something, these days." Looked out the front window.

We’ll see how my skirt turns out.

*Not that I don’t like it when people touch me – friends, acquaintances – but it makes me freeze up too, so that I stand there stiff, smiling gamely till they take their hands off. It’s nice, but I’m still working on responding gracefully and happily.