The event is Saturday. It is now Friday of the previous week. The tailor says, 'Come next week.' You come next week. The dress is 'almost ready.' You come the week after. The dress is 'at the finisher.' You come the week after that. The tailor has traveled. The dress has traveled. Your sanity has traveled. The Nigerian tailor timeline is a parallel dimension. "Two weeks" means two months. "I'm on it" means I haven't started. "Come tomorrow" means come next week, and even then, bring a book. The tailor operates on Nigerian Standard Time, which is not a time zone but a state of being. And the excuses! "The machine spoiled." "The light was bad." "The material behaved funny." "My helper traveled." "There was a family emergency." Each excuse is plausible. Each excuse is also a lie. The truth is simpler: the tailor has thirty other customers, all with events on Saturday, all believing they are the priority. The desperation phase! You offer more money. You offer to pick it up unfinished. You offer to finish it yourself. The tailor is offended. "Do you think I don't know my work?" You do not think that. You think the work is not happening. But you cannot say this. You must apologize for your anxiety. You must trust the process. The process is broken. But the miracle! Sometimes — rarely — the dress is ready. It fits. It is beautiful. The suffering is forgotten. You post photos. You tag the tailor. "She delivered!" The comments flood in. "Who's your tailor?" You give the contact. The cycle begins for someone else. The tailor's legend grows. The timeline remains unchanged. What's the longest a tailor has ever delayed your outfit? And did you ever wear something else and pretend it was the plan?
