The making of these pants, imperfect though they may be, has served as a lesson in several ways. First of all, I learned that I DO need to make two pattern pieces: one for the front, and one for the back. Otherwise, I either end up with enough extra space below my belt to accommodate a front butt (which, thank goodness, I don't have), or if it fits in the front, I will be sporting the stereotypical "plumber's crack" in the back. Lesson learned.
The second thing I picked up on is if I'm going to make a dart or pleat, I must be cognizant of what it will look like on both ends. Example: I managed to get rid of all the extra space in the front by making a horizontal tuck across the tummy, but that left me with some fluffy hips. In effort to camouflage this, I sewed on the pink stripes (easier done BEFORE one sews the pants together, but of course I did it after). When camouflage didn't work, I attached some large buttons to the offending area, thus pointing out the flaw, as if to say "I MEANT to do that". It didn't fix the problem, but I consider it dealt with.
While I'm not sure if even my grandma wears baby blue polyester knit pants these days, I think I will prance around in these for today at least. Even in a failed project one can take some pride, but especially from a failed project one emerges a tad wiser. Or at least I'd like to think so. Maybe my funny blue pants don't scream "wise and learned" to anyone else, but as I wear them and remember the process, I will work out a thousand alternate ways in which to construct the next pair of pants, and these babies will serve as a reminder that even in imperfection there is a purpose.