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Like many enterprising twenty-somethings, I had a regular job as part of the corporate machine as well as a side hustle that let me indulge in my creativity. Both sustained by the fact that I couldn’t live, literally or figuratively, without both of them. Things had gotten to the point where I was selling my creations, mostly medieval gowns and corsets, online, but I definitely wasn’t about to quit my day job.
I had been working on a secret project for the holidays, hoping to launch it in time and was looking forward to some uninterrupted time to work on it. My sewing machine wasn’t modern. It had actually belonged to my great-grandmother and still worked by a foot pedal, but it still worked really well and could run anywhere, which was a definite advantage. I also kind of liked the internal incongruity of making mostly old-fashioned clothes the old-fashioned way and to sell online. Like the writers who would draft blogs on typewriters, it was a weird and wonderful meeting of old and new.
I never really appreciated how complex corsets were. Far from the diabolical torture devices some claim, they were essential to wearing particular types of dresses, as they gave foundation for the petticoats. Tight and tiny waists also weren’t the ‘Victorian ideal,’ no matter what some cherry-picked illustrations might suggest. Most of them were created as anti-corset propaganda. This was a rant most of my friends had heard more than once. I knew it could get tiresome, but it just made me so mad the bullshit people would believe because someone who claimed to be a historian said so.
I was so focused on making the perfect paragon of modern corsetry, I barely noticed the phone ringing. Snapping back to the physical realm, I snatched up the yelling glass and metal rectangle.
“Ahoy?”
“What’s up pussycat?” Lorelai’s familiar voice
“Just working on a corset,” I said, pushing back from the sewing machine.
Lorelai had been a close friend for years and deserved my undivided attention. Almost anyone else and I would have kept sewing while we talked.
“Want to take a break for lunch?”
“Sure.”
When I got there, Lorelai was easy to spot. Not only was she the best dressed person in the restaurant, a local place near my apartment building, she was also heavily pregnant with twins. It was a bit awkward as we attempted to hug in greeting, but we made due.
“How are things with the bridal shop?” I asked, helping her back down onto her chair.
“Great, honestly better than I would have thought for December. Apparently Christmas is the new spring for weddings. Though, to be fair, they could just be planning really far ahead.”
I felt awful, but couldn’t stop a pang of envy. Lorelai had everything she could ask for in life. A successful business that she loves with no boss but her, a great guy and not one but two healthy babies on the way.
Although it hadn’t been easy. I knew how hard she’d worked to get where she was, and managed to keep the business she had inherited from her grandmother going, even after a huge fire destroyed part of the shop a few years ago. She not only powered through it, but made her business bigger and better.
“How about you? I haven’t had time to be online much recently.”
I wanted to lie so much I could almost feel the little devil version of me on my left shoulder. The better angel of my nature, however, was nowhere to be seen. The truth was things were going okay, but I still wasn’t where I wanted to be at that point.
“Okay, I guess.”
“You guess?” Lorelai pressed.
“I feel dumb complaining. There are lots of people who don’t make anything. I have lots of regular customers and more all the time. It’s just that the material costs are so high I’m - ”
“Breaking even but not much more?”
“Yeah.”
“Been there. I didn’t start out a ripping success, and I was starting out with an established business.”
“I’m not even aiming that high,” I admitted. “I would really just like to be able to make costumes and sell my costumes full time.”
“A perfectly manageable goal,” Lorelai agreed.
“Only problem is I’m not sure how to get there. I’m doing everything I can think of.”
“I guess working at the steakhouse doesn’t help much.”
“Yes and no,” I sighed, “I don’t have as much time as I would like, but it gives me money to afford rent and buy food, which is a help when it comes to being able to focus.”
“I can imagine,” Lorelai concurred.
I knew the look, having seen it several times over the years. While the results varied, it usually meant something other wonderful or terrible was about to happen.
“Oh, boy,” I said, accidentally voicing the thought aloud.
“What?”
“You have the look,” I confided.
“What look?”
“The one that has lost you every game of cards you’ve ever played.”
