I rather like the English way of using 'pants' to mean underwear. And then also to mean 'no good'. These pants for mah bebe are indeed pants.
Note the wayward seam. (And the Ikea ironing board that has been wrapped
in plastic behind a bookshelf since we moved into this house nearly
four years ago. We are not Ironers. You can tell, because I scorched the board
within 30 seconds of setting up the iron.)
Waistband ahoy. Looks pretty good here. Cos you can't see the part
where the folded up bit didn't catch in the seam and is flapping about
inside the pants now. All technical terms.
Extremely large pants! With extremely dodgy hems. Did I ever mention that my mum worked in the rag trade? She made all our clothes when we were kids. She swore a lot less than me. I had to ring her to ask which way to lay the fabric out. And then to find out what I was doing wrong when trying to thread the machine. I still don't know the answer to that. The Boy had to do it for me. I swear, it smells my fear. But anyway. Pants. They aren't navy blue, or cargo pants, or ridiculous baby jeans and they did not cost me $30. And actually, they weren't that tricky. These are all good things. Pants! I may yet make some more. Muchas gracias, Pip.