There was no place card

Before anyone says I should have charged more: yes. I know.

The shop owner sold a bride a dress four sizes too small, then brought me out of alterations and announced that I “worked miracles.” In front of the bride. Who was already crying. This was not the first miracle he’d sold.

I gave notice. Somehow, during the ensuing conversation, I agreed to finish her dress at home. For very little money.

It took a week. Corset back, rebuilt bodice, fabric all over the kitchen. At the final fitting she stood on my coffee table while my husband watched baseball drinking beers.

She asked me to come to the wedding. Said she couldn’t imagine doing it without me.

I thought that was lovely.

Brought the sewing kit, obviously. Fixed a bridesmaid’s zipper. Sewed a button on the groom. Shortened the mother’s straps while the drinks were being served. Then everyone sat down. I stood next to an empty chair until someone said her husband was just in the bathroom.

A server asked where I was sitting. I went to find my place card. Checked twice, including under my first name.

The bride saw me from the top table and held up her hand. Little wave. Then she pointed at something coming loose on her sleeve.

They never found me a seat. Pretty rough way to find out I’d been invited in case something ripped. I spent the rest of the night at the open bar by myself.