At my niece’s wedding, my sister told 200 guests about the dress: ‘It came all the way from Paris. Twelve thousand dollars.’ I made that dress. Eleven months, above a dry cleaner’s. She seated me by the kitchen door. Then the bride lifted the hem. Nobody moved.”
The moment my sister announced that my niece’s wedding dress was a twelve-thousand-dollar masterpiece imported from Paris, the old needle scar on my thumb began to sting. I knew exactly where every stitch was...