I didn’t want to have to say this, but here goes. As cute as some yard art can be, some things are just tacky. Like those hand-painted plywood cutouts of big-butt women bending over in a garden.
While I never would want to hurt any fellow gardeners' feelings, I’m sorry, but some things just ain’t fittin.’
I suppose they might have been funny at first, in a Jeff Foxworthy-kind of way, but I think they have outlived their miniscule moment of cuteness.
If I want to see bloomers and pasty white legs sticking out from beneath a behemoth of a cotton housedress-covered hiney, I’ll close my eyes and remember my childhood.
Women were not meant to dig in the dirt in a dress. I love sundresses. Love ‘em. Add a hat and sandals and you’ll look divine standing in the yard, clipping roses and placing them in a wicker basket while the wind ripples the dress just so.
But if you’re going to flash the poor neighbors, wear pants.
While I never would want to hurt any fellow gardeners' feelings, I’m sorry, but some things just ain’t fittin.’
I suppose they might have been funny at first, in a Jeff Foxworthy-kind of way, but I think they have outlived their miniscule moment of cuteness.
If I want to see bloomers and pasty white legs sticking out from beneath a behemoth of a cotton housedress-covered hiney, I’ll close my eyes and remember my childhood.
Women were not meant to dig in the dirt in a dress. I love sundresses. Love ‘em. Add a hat and sandals and you’ll look divine standing in the yard, clipping roses and placing them in a wicker basket while the wind ripples the dress just so.
But if you’re going to flash the poor neighbors, wear pants.
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