This reminded me of a story that my father used to tell about a village tailor known as Zumbach. As legend had it, a man in this village had succeeded in business and wanted to have a new suit made. He went to Zumbach, the most famous tailor in the land, and had himself measured. When he came hack to Zumbach’s shop the next week for the final fitting, put on his new suit and stood in front of the mirror, he saw that the right sleeve was two inches longer than the left.
“Er, Zumbach,” he said, “there seems to be something wrong here. This sleeve is at least two inches too long.” The tailor, who didn’t like backtalk from his customers, puffed himself up and said,
“There is nothing wrong with the suit, my good man. Clearly, it’s the way you’re standing.” With that, Zumbach pushed on the man’s shoulder until the sleeves were even. But when the customer looked in the mirror, he saw that the fabric at the back of the suit was bunched up behind his neck. “Please, Zumbach,” the poor man said, “my wife hates a suit that bulges in back. Would you mind just taking that out?”
Zumbach snorted indignantly, “I tell you there’s nothing wrong with this suit! It must be the way you’re standing.” Zumbach shoved the man’s head forward until the suit seemed to fit him to perfection. After paying the tailor’s high price, the man left Zumbach’s store in confusion.
Later that day, he was waiting at the bus stop with his shoulders lopsided and his head straining forward, when an-other fellow took hold of his lapel and said, “What a beautiful suit! I’ll bet Zumbach the tailor made that suit for you.”
“Why, yes,” the man said, “but how did you know?”
“Because only a tailor as brilliant as Zumbach could outfit a body as crippled as yours.”