Dear fashion industry,
Today, I spotted this gorgeous dress, navy with teal and purple swirls of color mixed in. It fit like a glove. The pattern was seemingly designed around my taste and coloring. I squealed with delight when I spotted it across the store.
Upon getting within 30 feet of it, I realized it was a maxidress. Which, in the unflattering clothing choice rankings of all time, fit somewhere between J. Simpson's high waisted jeans:
Fit aside, I also double dare you to find someone with electricity and running water who has a burning desire to cover their legs in the summertime.
Because you asshats cannot get it together and design dresses that actually flatter more than .1% of the U.S. population, I've decided to take matters into my own hands. I bought the dress. Tomorrow, I am bringing it to a tailor. I fully expect her to look at me like I'm feral as I request that she chop off and burn the bottom three feet of fabric.
I should mention, I don't tailor things. If they don't fit, I don't buy them. If they tear, I throw them away. And yet, when I stare at my closet and see only ill-fitting maternity-esque dresses that you somehow convinced me to buy last season, I realize that I have no other option.
My tailor thanks you, as this may end up costing me about 3/4 of the price of the dress. I curse you, because it shouldn't be this difficult to flash some leg at the bar.
Cheers,
Gina
