I should have pressed the muslin. The wrinkle under the right cheek is just that, a wrinkle from a moment when I wadded up the fabric and hurled it across the room.
The one remaining problem is the long creases running from thigh to knee. I think this is because I added fabric to the thighs to accommodate the ol' saddlebags, and probably added a little to much and didn't do the best job blending it in. So, really, I think this is just a matter of taking out the basting stitches and pin fitting the side seams so that everything falls smoothly and the seam hangs straight. (I could be wrong.)
Phineas has volunteered to help me pin-fit the pants.
Yes, that sentence deserves it's very own paragraph and you should imagine ominous music playing in the background when you read it. You see, the last time Phineas tried to help me using a pin, he stuck me so hard - and right on the bum, too! - that I shrieked, jumped so high I nearly hit my head on the ceiling and then proceeded to swear a blue streak. I'm not sure who was more traumatized by the experience, me or him. Probably him. But he is now looking at pinning as a challenge he must master. It could be fraught with danger for us both (I cannot be held accountable for my involuntary responses to being gored with a pin). However, I am going to be brave. If he does master pinning without leaving me full of holes, it could make fitting much much easier.
Anyway, Saturday is when we plan to work on this, and part of me is wishing the weekend would hurry up and get here. The other part of me is cringing. (Sorry, sweetheart. I know you will do your best. And I will do my best to laugh off any mishaps.)
Wish us luck.