Country “chic” has a special place in my heart. Twice a year we’d go up to the Dallas wholesale trade mart for their handmade crafts show–tons of woodwork, calligraphy, and…country. It was like someone went postal in a Cracker Barrel with a lace gun, and then a team of art school dropouts swept through with a box of paint pens to finish the job. Not a pretty sight, unless you really like doilies, and things glued onto things. So, it brings me a warm fuzzy feeling, not unlike heartburn, to see something like this.
I think that wearing a dress made out of dyed corn husks is a fashion don’t. If those shoulder pads weren’t so 1750s, they’d be almost 80’s–Ming the Merciless could totally sport them. Or maybe they aren’t shoulder pads…maybe she’s a poor, twisted wretch of a woman with a dreadful spinal condition, and tiny, sad little vestigial limbs, in which case she’s probably not carrying those flowers to church, but like a Dickensian waif, is selling them for pennies on the street corner. “Buy a daffodilly, your lordship? So’s my mother can make me a real dress, and I don’t have to wear cornhusks and broom? These rushes chafe so, but I can’t do even the smallest thing about it because of my tiny vestigial limbs. Oh, thank you, governor! And a very festive St. Wilgefortis’s day to you to, sir!”
No, no, that’s totally not it at all. You only THINK she’s a Dickensian waif, because your mind can’t handle the truth, which is much more horrible and possibly a tad bit weirder. So, turn back or risk plunging into madness. Mind, if you’re reading this with a maximized window, it’s probably too late.
There you go. Witness the true face of crafts, and despair.
St. Vincent De Paul near 620 and I35, Round Rock