I admit it: I feel uncomfortable putting pictures of myself on the web. I'm not cute like Gertie. I'm not fey like Shannon. I'm not pretty like Carolyn. I'm not adorable like Sunni. And I am not fiercely gorgeous like Erica B. (If you are a sewing blogger, don't be offended if you aren't mentioned. Please. I lack space. Not to mention energy. So. Just imagine you are listed here. Add your own complimentary adjective. Okeydoke?) But. I've swallowed my pride. I've moved into acceptance of my looks. For the moment, anyway. And I am modeling a dress made from Butterick 7893, circa 1950s. Yes. It's from my closet. No. I did not make it myself. Yes. His Bertness snapped the pics, so I'm lacking detail shots. The man would rather watch the baseball playoffs than take reams of pictures of his beloved. Go figure. Oh well. What is, as some wise woman or man once said, is. And there you go.
This dress was made quite a few years ago by a tailor. A dear man. Absolutely. However. He had some ideas of his own. He made his own pattern. Alas. So there are no darts on the sleeves. And no gathering at the neckline. And since he did not make a muslin, it was too late. Even though I am a novice sewer, one thing I have learned: You cannot uncut the fabric, no matter how passionately you might wish.
I do like the dress, though. I do. I wear it often on those rare occasions I can be coaxed out of my yoga attire.
You can see the neckline changes. Just look. Still attractive, don't you agree? But. Not the original pattern. I'm a purist. (Mostly.) He did a very good job sewing and finishing. He did. I will voice no complaints there. None.
I wore this yesterday. To celebrate our 19th anniversary. Nineteen years. Who'd a thunk it? Probably few people who attended our wedding. Just goes to show you. Sometimes, when least expected, you go the distance.