In a game of five-card draw poker, a player is dealt a hand of five cards and he can only change two of the five; the other three cards, well, the player is stuck with for the rest of the game. I said this to my friend the tailor, trying to make an argument for altering one's clothes when they don't fit. He raised his eyes from the cloth he was measuring, gave me a stare with pressed lips and said nothing. My friend the tailor knows when to hold them. Words, that is.

I was standing in front of my friend's long, narrow mirror trying to fit into a jacket that was tight in the shoulders area and long on sleeves. I wrestled with it for a few moments, taking constant looks at the reflection of an image I was certain was of my own making.

Why did you buy this one, my friend the tailor asked. I am sure there was another jacket in the same shop that would have fit you much better, may be even perfectly. It was probably hanging on the same rack. You just did not see it.

I frowned and puffed my cheeks. I thought of going back to the shop to try and return the jacket or exchange it for another. But the sale was probably over by now. And the other jacket, which I did not see, was probably taken by another customer and is probably making him a bad fit at this very moment. And it was snowing outside.

The words of my friend the tailor kept ringing in my ears as I walked out of his shop in the freezing cold: whatever you wear, make sure it makes you happy!