My grandmother had the worst taste in the world, which meant that she was always fun and easy to shop for. Consequently, she always got the lion’s share of my gift-giving budget. She was the kind, in a certain age, who would’ve fit very well in Miami. She always decked herself out with too much makeup and jewelry, bright and gaudy colors, favoring the brightest blue eye shadow, so much that my mother would tell her that she looked like a streetwalker. She wore the loudest clothing she could get her hands on, and if it was lamé, all the better. Her over-the-top purses, always big enough to carry an entire carton of cigarettes, would be considered tacky in some circles, but that didn’t stop me from coveting one which bore multi-colored dead, stuffed birds nestled under clear plastic. I was thrilled when she gave that to me.
I thought she…
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Red Shoes are Better than Bacon 
Good story….Grandparents are heavyweight influences! (Or is it childhood trauma that is exhibiting itself?¿?) j.
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just nice—–would have liked to have known her b
On Sat, Dec 24, 2016 at 12:25 PM, Red Shoes are Better than Bacon wrote:
> redshoesarebetterthanbacon posted: ” ” >
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