Enter the painted lady

Every town has one. She’s a little too loud. A little too bawdy. She uses a little too much of what Granny referred to as “face paint.”

That’s what makes her a painted lady.

That’s what makes all the nice ladies stay inside and shun her.

Well, in the last few weeks, Mother Nature’s very own painted lady has come to town with her cloying perfumes and garish colors. Her name is Spring.

That tacky old Spring has cloaked us with her yellows, her gaudy pinks, and trashy lavenders. She even dares to turn out in white! As if…

Her perfumes have clogged our noses, made our eyes water, and induced unending sneezing fits. She has driven us indoors to sterile environs. We try to hate her, but we just can’t.

Much like Belle Watling, Gone With the Wind‘s unlikely heroine harlot with a heart of gold, Spring has only good intentions.

She comes to save us from the dark, dregs of winter and usher us through to the lazy, warm days of summer. She causes the sap to rise, invigorating growth.  She brings the flowers that ultimately yield fruit and veggies.

So here we are again, sniffling and hacking, indebted to the whorish Spring, much like the prudish old biddies of the Confederacy, for the life that is to come. Might as well grab a Kleenex, pray for rain, and wait for tomorrow.

For after all, tomorrow is another day.

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