FAYE
My full concentration was on the hands running around my waist as I breathed out calmly. No other noises were catching my attention, just the scraping of the pencil on a paper and the snip of scissors on the threads on my pants.
"What do you say, dear? Still too tight?" Carol, the middle-aged pattern maker asked.
" A bit." I released my breath, giving her a nod. "Add a quarter of an inch looser," I said and heard her write on the paper. Then she asked me to raise my arms side by side.
"How do the armholes feel this time?" she asked again.
I couldn't look at her because my head was straight, and I wasn't moving. I needed to stand like a mannequin. Although I was expected to be sensitive to every clothes that she put on me. "Need an eight of an inch adjustment in my shoulders," I s
