We moved to Gulfport, Florida in 1999, a little the worse for wear as two bags of clothing which had been packed in black garbage bags when I ran out of boxes, had actually turned into garbage! We’d experienced a climate change going from borderline sub-tropical to tropical, and gone from a professional setting to a retired setting, so the cloths we had no longer fit our lifestyle anyway.
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One of the first things we did was shop for thinner fabrics to wear in the squelching summer heat. Horace, my husband, found a wonderful pair of sear-sucker slacks by Hagar on a twice-reduced rack.
They were his favorite brand. They looked perfect. The one thing they didn’t have, being strictly casual pants, was a sharp crease down the front.
I assured Horace that would present no problem, as I’d iron one in and just sew it in place so the stitches couldn’t be detected. I’d done that hundreds of times before, but it had been a while.
When we got home I washed them, carefully folded them, seam to seam, to place the crease exactly in the center the first time. By then Horace was out mowing the yard, so I didn’t bother to ask him to put them on before I began to sew the crease in.
When he finally did come in and bathed, I presented him with the finished pants. He wanted to wear them downtown that afternoon. All was well.
That was… until he came out of the bathroom, fuming about the crooked seam. Sure enough, it tended to wind around his leg from the knees down, pointing outward, on each sides. It looked like he had flaps on his legs!
I assured him I’d done it right. He wasn’t convinced, so once he had them off, I re-matched the seams and my crease was absolutely, undeniably perfect. It was the seam structure that was off!
“Can you fix them?” He asked plaintively.
“Sure I can!” I said as I picked up my shears and cut them off at the knees, to his wide-eyed horror.
“They’ll make great shorts!”