The dress is red and at least six sizes too big, bunched together in the back and held with two big white clothespins. Looking at it in the mirror I can see the top of my tan bra and it clashes with the already questionable color of the fabric, and I'm altogether interested in this dress.
"Your measurements," says the seamstress, "are 31 1/2, 25, and 35."
"Uhh, what's that mean?" I'm pretty distracted by the dress, and by the thought that it's a bridesmaid's dress and that the bride standing behind me is the same person that was my friend ten years ago.
"It means you're curvy is what it means."
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