You know how the other day I went on quite a bit about personal taste in decorating? And about how some people manage to pour all kinds of money into making their home look… well, quite hideous, really?
That whole discussion of “good taste” in the home has reminded me of this favourite cartoon from The New Yorker…
And who doesn’t like to poke a bit of fun at pretentious rich folks?
Well, other gaudy rich folks, maybe…
Afterthought #1:
Here’s a little travel tip for my fellow femmes:
If you’re travelling alone in North America, and you don’t want to be hassled by optimistic convention-going salesmen in hotel lounges or on long flights… I’d strongly recommend picking up a copy of The New Yorker and letting ’em see you enjoying it.
Don’t ask me why — perhaps it’s the implication that you might be too intelligent and refined to look twice at any man who tries to get dates in an airport? — but it works like a charm!
Afterthought #2:
My uncle always used to say, of pretentious people who were rude to him, There ain’t no couth like uncouth!: I’m pretty sure that wasn’t original to him, so feel free to make it your own. In fact, I’d love to know who came up with that quip, if anyone happens to know…
… okay, that’s all I’ve got here.
This reminds me of the story of the Cape Breton girl who had moved to Boston for work, and had returned home a year later for vacation. She had breakfast with her parents the first morning she was back.
When her father was finished, he put on his cap and said, “Time to spread the horse manure on the back forty.”
The girl turned to her mother and said, “Mama! Mama! Make Papa say ‘fertilizer’!”
“‘fertilizer’!”, her mother replied, “It took me 20 years to say ‘manure’!”
Couth is in the eye of the beholder!