So I'm with Joanne, getting my new suit fitted.

Jack the tailor works at Bullocks, but their alteration policy won't let him widen the arm holes in the jacket. It's a tricky job, arm-hole widening, and we're at Jack's house getting it done on the side. His workshop is a converted garage filled with tailorly things, including his aged, lap-less mother-in-law, stitching slowly.

Jack's making small talk.

"I'm really a pants specialist," he says.

"Really?"

"Oh, yes."

"Oh."

"Yes. I do Luther Vandross' pants." He finishes pinning my cuffs and stands. "There. You can change now."

So I shuffle off, into a unconverted laundry room off the converted garage, filled with laundryly things. I put my jeans back on and emerge just as Jack is storing something away.

"He's a big man," Joanne says.

"Luther?"

"Yeah. They're big pants."

"You got to see Luther Vandross' pants?"

"Yeah," she says. "They're shiny."

"Celebrity pants!"

And Jack just looks at us. His mother-in-law doesn't seem to notice.