in ruggy's opinion, possibly worse than the unblogged drop crotch pants: the balloon dress.
around this time last year, i was in dallas, texas, sweating like a fool, flying through the air, and far away from ruggy. that last part never goes well. we don't do apart, as a general rule. but do it we did, for three whole summer months. and i began to notice something: i stitched differently when i was away from my man.
a pair of yet-to-be-blogged pants started the whole shebang. i made them in what seemed like sixty minutes, the day before i left for dallas. LAUGHING ALL THE WAY. ruggy, i said: i can no longer fight it. i am going to make a pair of drop crotch pants.
ruggy blinked, steadied himself. are you telling me you're going to succumb to trend pressure? slowly, i dropped my head: ...yes. i'm afraid i am. and wait till you see the print i'm going to use.
an hour later i clambered up the stairs, cackling maniacally. LOOK! AREN'T THEY HORRIBLE!!! we agreed the pants were meant for indoor use only. and not just indoor use, ALONE indoor use: i.e., my hotel room in dallas. after all, being lonesome, i would need something to make me laugh, something to keep my spirits up, other than spirits.
but one sunny rehearsal day, when the pile of laundry was greater than the pile of clean clothing, i threw them on. and suddenly...a shower of compliments rained down on me from the glorious gaggle of stunning female dancers in the company. what? how could they possible like these...things? this insane pair of droopy spandex pants that give me, essentially, more junk in the back, and MAN junk in the front?
good lord does ruggy hate him a jumper
now, let me be clear: none of the heterosexual men at work ever complimented me on them. not a one. and at this point in the summer, everybody knew i made my own clothing, and commented on it daily. no, the pants praise was doled out only by women, gay men, and all young children.
but the category specific praise was enough. i began to feel good in them. they came to be known as the-pants-that-ruggy-hates, the running joke being that i had to get enough wear out of them before he came to visit. hey! a random child would cry, you're wearing ThePantsThatRuggyHates! a surprise bonus: a guaranteed mention of ruggy whenever i wore them, further guaranteeing my grinning like a fool and skipping 'round the room.
started in dallas, reunion with ruggy imminent, finished in nyc: sewing with wiggle again
so: a year has passed, happily back in the company of ruggy, and still in possession of the pants. i know the man i love is not in love with them. will i wear them anyway? yes. ruggy grins and bears it like a champ, same way i bear that damn faded mauve t-shirt he refuses to throw away. i wore them 3 times during me made may. i think i dress about 60% for myself, 30% for ruggy, and 10% for i-have-to-look-like-a-lawyer-for-this-audition. but DO i? the pants were mutually laughable when it was ruggy & me in our living room. the pants became high fashion under the opinion of long legged ladies in a rehearsal room. i fancy myself a strong willed brat whose fashion sense is entirely of her own making, but really, these are the pants that opinion made, unmade, and made again.
(i realize i have not shown you the pants in question...yet. i'd like to build them up to godzilla proportions in your imaginations first.)
i've probably asked it before, but i think the answer changes as we grow, so: who do you dress for? yourself? or the company you keep?