Here lately, I’m pretty sure my seamstress’s best customer is ME, (seven visits in seven weeks).

I say seamstress, but other folks say tailor or alterations lady. Same thing. At any rate, that’s one of the first things I search out when I move to a new town. Its importance is right up there with hair salons, gyms, doctors and banks: a good seamstress. They are normally worth their weight in gold and sometimes you feel like that’s what you’re paying them—pure gold, because it can get pricey.

You see, because I am a true bargain hunter, it’s not uncommon for me to find, say, an $8 dress that needs “a little work.” Torn lining? Check! Kim, my seamstress, can fix it. Uneven hem? Check! Kim can fix it. Dress too big? Check! Dress too small? Check! Somehow she adds elastic, or takes out elastic, and suddenly it fits perfect. She once removed an entire dress lining (these cause my hot flashes to flash, ack!). She also she reshapes straps that fall off the shoulders with a pinch and a pleat. She’s like a dang magician! She pieces together a belt to change a neckline; she whips out a certain zipper, button or fastener to make amends. She has many fascinating tricks of the trade. She’s like a Genie: Give her a bottle of clothes problems and out pops gorgeous, well-made, well-fitted, tailored-for-you dress.

Now, all of this ingenuity does not come cheap. I said I was a bargain shopper and I am. Some say, “There’s no such thing as a free lunch.” I say, “There’s no such thing as a perfect bargain basement markdown.” It’s true: There’s always more work to be done. In other words, “You get what you pay for,” is really, “You get what you pay for and then you pay a little more,” at least when it comes to sale clothes and alterations.

Not too long ago I walked into Kim’s shop with that lovely, afore-mentioned, white, $8 Battenburg summer frock. I’m almost embarrassed to admit that it needed total reworking. As usual, I walked into her shop and she greeted me warmly. Her little Shiz Tzu puppies shimmied and shivered all around my feet as I petted them and talked baby-talk. Her rack of gently-used clothes and shoes (with the “garage sale” sign overhead) stood nearby. I tried on the dress behind her curtained dressing room, then stood on the stool, waiting for her to appear. “Voila!” She came in with a pin cushion, a tape measure and a surprised look. “Oh, no!” She told me immediately. Then she repeated it over and over, using various arm gestures and shakes of the head, repeating that the dress was hopeless. She used terms like “puffy,” “pulling,” “torn,” “sewn wrong” and “no!” Then she told me it would be ready in three days. Y’all, that $8 dress cost me an additional $35. But! She turned it into a lovely skirt. And I’ve been wearing it nearly every day since. I don’t know if it’s because I truly love it (I do) and it matches everything (it does) or because I feel like a fool for spending that much money (that, too.) So I guess it’s all of the above. You might think I’ve learned a lesson from this, but you would be wrong.

I once read about a movie star who said the reason so many movie stars looks perfectly fitted for their clothes is because they buy them off the rack and have them altered. And here I thought it was their perfect bodies or else a personal shopper with 24 hour service. It’s amazing what you learn in those trashy tabloids. (And that’s one bad habit I truly AM trying to give up.)

 It’s like this: I’m attracted to the unusual, the exotic, the ridiculous (and never the sublime): deconstructed jackets, beaded belts (I once made a lovely turquoise necklace FROM a belt), sparkles, colors, fringe and original native styles (the Islands, mon, in particular). In fact, I have a size 8 blouse hanging in my closet right now (with dancing characters from Trinidad, I’m guessing) that I refuse to get rid of because I absolutely LOVE it! I also have hopes of one day fitting into that size 8, though at the rate I’m going, it will be dry-rotted before I ever see size 8. Just on a lark, I think I’ll visit Kim and see how she can turn it into a size 12. Maybe she could take off the collar and the sleeves, then sew them across the bodice, and add a hook and eye, just for good measure. Anything’s possible with Kim.