“I do think we have a problem, Pip,” said Merry.  They were standing in Pippin’s room, surveying the wardrobe.  “Do you know anything about sewing?”

            Pippin shook his head.

            “Me neither.  And that’s too bad, because I think we’re going to need to make our dresses.”

            “Are you sure we couldn’t rummage around the palace and find some children’s clothing?”

            “I thought we were going for something scandalous.”

            “Seamstresses?”

            “No.  We are not commissioning someone to make us ladies’ clothes.  Besides, who could sew them in time?”

            “Oh, you’re no fun.”  Pippin glanced around the room.  “Well, we wouldn’t have to make dresses, would we?”

            “What do you mean?”

            “We could just make the skirts, you know… wear some of our old tunics from back home for the top, or some of the off-duty stuff they made us.”

            “And how would we make the skirts?”

            Pippin climbed up on his bed (still massive, even though the legs had been cut down to a more appropriate height) and shook a pillow out of its case.  He looked at the pillowcase, appraising.  “Silk.  Very nice material for this time of year.”  He hopped down.  “See, all we have to do is cut it off at an appropriately scandalous length,” he held up the pillowcase to his waist, grabbed his hobbit-sword, and sliced off roughly seven inches—

            “Pippin, what are you doing?”

            Pippin shot a glare at his cousin.  “Being resourceful.  I can pay for a replacement, if that’s what you’re worried about.  Do you have a better plan?”

            “No.”

            “That’s what I thought.  So, you cut loops around one of the edges,” here he made a set of incisions with his knife, “step inside the fabric, thread your belt through, tighten, and presto!  Instant skirt.”  Pippin examined himself, made a few experimental twirls, and sat down, quite happy, on the bed.

            Merry gaped.  “Pip, you’re brilliant.”

            “I know.”

            “Now, how are we going to alter the shirts?”

            “What do you mean?”

            “Well, I should think we’d have to widen the seams—I know I’ll have to, for my shirt from home fits snug on me.  But I don’t have a clue as to how one does that.”

            “Oh—I see where you’re going.”  Pippin paused.  “However, I don’t think we want quite that much scandal.”

            “Whyever not?”

            Pippin lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper.  “If we show these men of Gondor how buxom our kind are, the Shire will be overrun.”

            Merry laughed.  “I see, I see.  No stuffing of the shirts—we want the lasses back home all to ourselves.”

            “Precisely.  We can always make up for it with flowers and whatever other dainties we can find.”

            “Splendid.”  Merry proceeded to cut up the remainder of the pillowcase, then stopped and let out a little cough.  “Pip?”

            “Yes?”

            “We don’t want too much scandal?”

            “We want as much scandal as we can afford to make.  Why?”

            “You see… if we are to be wearing just these skirts below, and if we’re sitting down, and someone is looking at us from the wrong angle… that person could get a ratherunpleasant view.”

            Pippin blushed.  “Oh.  That hadn’t occurred to me.”

            Merry nodded.

            “But what can we do?”

            “Hm.  Do you have any breeches that can afford to be shortened?”

            “Ah.  I think I may…”  Pippin pulled an old pair of trousers and hacked off the legs.  “They don’t fit anymore, anyway—too short.”  He held the remaining bit of trouser up to the skirt.  “This will work famously, Merry.  I think it needs a new name.”

            “What?”

            “Well, we’ve already discovered that it would be mad to wear one of the two without the other, so we really just created a new garment, didn’t we?  And it’s a skirt, but it’s extremely short, and it has an extremely short pair of breeches underneath so no one will get indecently exposed.  So… ‘short’ and ‘skirt…’  ‘Shirt’s’ already been taken… it’ll have to be a ‘skort.’”

            “‘Skort’?  Do you realize how incredibly stupid that sounds?”

            “Merry, that’s what this is all about.”  Pippin undid his belt and the skirt slid to the floor.  “Now, all we’ll have to do is make a hem so it won’t look as if I ruined a pillowcase.  Do you know where we could find a needle and thread?”

            “I’ll bet my pipe Sam has some,” said Merry.