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Tailored Truth

I don’t recall my tailor ever altering my trousers (or sewing a button) on time. My pair of jeans was supposed to be scissored, stitched and readied for delivery by Saturday evening. Knowing how religiously Indians adhere to schedule, I decided to offer them some buffer and went to procure my belonging only tonight after returning from office.

They looked blankly at me, as if I had asked for enriched Uranium! The needle-in-a-haystack hunt began and I was stranded for well over 15 mins before the elusive package was discovered languishing in some forgotten alcove.

A further discovery reiterated my faith in the timelessness of our civilization. The team of good-for-nothing tailors had conveniently forgotten all about my jeans. Just like old times! The skinny lady at the counter meekly offered to get the job done by tomorrow.

I’ve often wondered why do tailors generally specialize in ladies or gents. Any clues? Man and woman aren’t as different as cow and goat.

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