Truly Tacky Tuesday
which is the day I'm going to blog about the cornea-searing amounts of bad taste I see everywhere I look.
Especially if I'm at home.
I was really pleased with the idea of making fun of other people's bad taste (and in a pinch, my own.) I thought it was genius. And then the other day as I was shopping for groceries, I found myself wondering. What if I couldn't find anything to post about? What if I encountered a shortage of tackiness? What would I do then?
And then, as I left the grocery store, as if to put my fears to rest, my muse presented me with this:
Strolling along, lowering property values where ever they go.I had to sneak the photograph, so let me describe what's going on there. This is two old ladies. Don't let the bright red hair fool you; the woman on the right was even older than the gray haired on the woman on the left.
Now, please notice the shorts. It was probably 80 degrees, and I was perfectly comfortable wearing jeans, sandals, and a shirt with three-quarter sleeves. And yet these women went outside wearing the kind of shorts I find problematical on 12 year olds.
It gets worse. The woman on the right had such--how can I put this tactfully--such vivacious flesh on her legs that with every step she took, it moved in all kinds of directions. Seriously, it was all over the map. Up, down, left, right, jiggle jiggle jiggle. Although the woman on the left with the gray hair had amazingly firm legs.
And then I took a closer look. She had on pantyhose. White pantyhose. The kind business women used to wear with their navy blue skirt suits, Reeboks, and floppy disk ties. Except this woman was wearing hers with shorts.
And so, since we're talking about abbreviated things, a haiku.
If you must wear shorts
--and really, no one wants that--
don't wear pantyhose.
--and really, no one wants that--
don't wear pantyhose.
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