Only Fools Rush In (And I Ain't No Fool)

Photo after glossy photo of the finest pieces of fashion I had ever seen took up every page in the Venus magazine. I flipped through them one by one, running my fingers down the ones I liked the best. Much too expensive for my paycheck, of course. But it was fun to dream. Polka dotted dresses with red scarves, fancy gowns made of silk, and all of the latest nineties trends such as slip dresses with chokers. 

I decided to pass on the choker.

One piece in particular caught my eye. A simple ballgown silhouette with pearl beading over satin blue fabric. Off the shoulder and floor length, it was quite stunning. I scooted off my hotel bed and rummaged around the drawers looking for some stationary. After finding a tiny notebook I grabbed a pencil and began my sketch. I wasn't exactly what anyone would call "good" at art. But if I started with a reference to look at, I could eventually get the hang of drawing designs on my own. 

Right?

Trying to replicate the dress exactly would prove to be impossible with my skills but I attempted a rough idea. For some reason I couldn't get it to look right. The curve of the ballgown was either too low or too wide or too skinny. And when I finally got one side to look decent, I had to get the other side to match. Shading was equally difficult. I groaned in frustration. How did art come so easily to people?

Finally finished and completely unsatisfied with my work, I looked it over. 

It was hideous. Absolute rubbish.

Tossing the stationary aside I flipped through the magazine some more. Not all the slip dresses followed nineties trends as some were treated more like extravagant evening wear. Even I could get on board with this. Something like this shouldn't be too difficult to draw. But I wanted to try something else. 

I wanted to try making one. 

Reaching into my suitcase for the fabric and supplies Venus so kindly "lent" me without Mr. Anderson knowing, I spread everything out on my bed. The fabric was a rich magenta but it would do well to mimic the shiny gold of the magazine dress. I unrolled some tape measure and cut out what I thought would fit somebody my height. Doing the same to another stretch of fabric, I grabbed a couple pins and attached the two pieces together. 

This was insanely difficult without a model to hang it on. Again, nothing looked quite right. 

I wasn't sure how to make the straps of the slip so I merely cut some strips of fabric and pinned them in a loop. Then I noticed the front of my dress was cut much smaller than the back piece. I shook it off. This was my first time, after all. I had to keep going. Now if I could sew the pieces together, I could try the whole thing on and see how it looked. 

Cursing myself for grabbing black thread instead of a less obvious white, I got my needle ready and began stitching. Those home economic classes I took in high school hardly prepared me for the cutthroat career of fashion. 

Not to mention all the cut fingers.

It took me forever to stitch up one side. When I got to the straps I just left them pinned on for the moment. The day must have been almost over by the time I started on the other side. A machine would have been much faster but there was no way I was lugging one of those around with me on my vacation. Somebody would certainly notice a missing machine anyway and alert Mr. Anderson. But what would he do about it? He's the CEO, for God's sake, he's too busy to worry about that. 

"Busy stuffing his face with Jones' homemade pot pie," I mumbled. "Then asking me to fetch his slippers and cigar..."

This dress would show him. This dress would show the world!

What a complete and utter chump I was. 

It looked awful. Uneven cutting and crooked, black thread, flimsy straps....I could go on. Turning it inside out so the stitching wouldn't show, I attempted to put it on. And it looked even worse. 

It went down farther than I intended and was a bit too tight around my hips. I was worried the stitching would tear if I forced it on so it sat squeezing me. I didn't even get to see how the shitty straps held up before taking it off and throwing the whole thing away in the trash. I was utterly discouraged. What if Mr. Anderson was right and I couldn't be anything more than his little servant? Forget that college degree, I didn't even have proper technique or experience to work in a higher position! Collapsing on my bed and groaning into my pillow, I decided to lay there the rest of the day. 

What good would it do the world if I showed my wretched face in broad daylight?