Less Dolce, More Vita

So I have a wedding to attend in a fortnight and it is very (bold, italics, underline) important I look presentable. We won't go into all the ignominious reasons here, suffice it to say it will be populated with eidolons from the past and it is depressingly important to me that in the game of, 'whose life is better', I don't take out the wooden spoon in an uncontested walk-over. A nice dress will help enormously with this objective (she says somewhat falteringly).

A sale at Myer provided a frock from a rather fancy designer I wouldn't normally let myself look at, let alone try on. It was a size too big but in my desperation to get this major hurdle out of the way I rationalised that it was perfect in every other respect and given the enormous savings I had made on the original tag price (highway robbery!) I could certainly afford to get it taken in by a tailor - in fact, wouldn't that be better all round - almost a bespoke creation!

Enter Mr Ricci. At a well-traveled 88 years of age, it would be facetious to claim he shows no signs of slowing down, but he still sits in the large window of his Carlton shop most days and deals with the steady trickle of clients with an energy I know I'm not capable of at 33. His curriculum vitae is as astonishing for this corner of the world, as it is glamorous. During the dizzy days of Italian neorealist film's ascendancy his hands crafted costumes for Gregory Peck, Sophia Loren & Anthony Quinn - can you imagine!? And this is the absolute duck's nuts for me - he worked on Roman Holiday. ROMAN HOLIDAY. 

On exiting the change room in my voluminous number I immediately clutched at the thigh area and apologetically mumbled that obviously not as much adjustment would be required in this region, to which he immediately replied, without skipping a beat, 'no it would just make your bottom look bigger.' At which point he also tugged at the back panel and nodded, 'or here either, it would only draw attention to the...' (insert gesturing hands making large air-buttocks in repetition of his point).

I thought I took it all quite well - charming foreign men seem to be able to say mostly anything to me without raising too much ire. Mr Ricci did take a step back at this point though and, gently checking to see he hadn't wounded any feminine pride, cajoled, 'but you are no silly girl, huh? You know how these things work. Now Sophia Loren -you know her? - she was crazy! And so much trouble with the husbands! (cue open palmed tap to the head in exasperation). The first and no doubt last time this short, white, flat bummed and small breasted lady will ever be mentioned in the same sentence as Sophia Loren - by a man that had taken the literal measure of us both, no less.

I will bicycle over tomorrow to pick up the dress and I do so hope he will be there. He mentioned that his son or daughter sometimes man the shop when he isn't feeling well and, whilst I'm sure they have inherited much of their father's graciousness, I want to ask him about Greg Peck; he was dreamy.