We Know Tacky When We See It

I was born and raised in the Southern United States.  I still live in the SOUTH, although I am a bit farther NORTH than when I started out.  Most of my early life was in North Eastern Florida which is exactly the same thing as South Eastern Georgia, except there are more military bases. Then, I moved to South Eastern Virginia, which is exactly the same thing as North Eastern North Carolina except there are more military bases.

No, I’m not in the military and never was, so don’t ask me about that.

In the South, all women have a talent:  Identifying TACKY.  Not a single one of us can give you a definition for TACKY, but we know it when we see it.

Examples of TACKY:

• That rather large woman who goes to (Something)Mart to shop wearing stretch pants so tight the seams are one Twinkie away from splitting wide open.  TACKY.
• The family up the street that has their house painted forest green and the front door and part of the front porch is painted lime green that doesn’t match the rest of the house.  TACKY.
• The man in the neighborhood who has red flames painted the front of his rust and cream colored pick-up truck that was brand new about thirty-five years ago.  One word:  Bondo.  One more word.  TACKY
• The teenager who is dressed really nicely for school with a cute dress, black leggings over her skinny legs and more make-up than I have ever worn in a single sitting who gives me the finger when I turn right on a red without considering that she may want to cross the street when she finishes texting.  TACKY.
• Any woman over the age of 60 who wears a pair of hot pink short shorts with “Juicy” written across the back side.  She is probably the world’s greatest grandma, but she is not JUICY.  She is TACKY.
• Anyone who tries to serve a boilermaker to their teetotal maiden aunt is TACKY

But then I realized when my neighbor has a different definition of tacky when she referred to the fake stain glass that I have on the window of my front door as tacky.  Now I know tacky and I would have never put that cling film fake stained glass on my front door if I thought it was tacky.  I would never wear stretch pants around the house, out shopping or even to church.  I would never paint my house two shades green that don’t match.  I would never give someone the finger unless it was well-deserved.  I would never use a flame decal to cover up the rust around the grill on my car.  I would never insinuate that I am JUICY at my age.  I would never serve any kind of alcohol to a teetotal maiden aunt.  But, I still can’t give you an adequate definition of tacky.

But, since my neighbor referred to my fake stain glass that is in the design of an art deco grape arbor as tacky, I have to adjust my thinking little bit.  If she thinks it’s tacky, does every one else in South Eastern Virginia? A Southern women would rather be dead that thought of as tacky.

Because I have tried to avoid being tacky my whole life, I have a major dilemma.  You see, I LOVE my fake stain glass grape arbor so I left it up on the front door, but now I am slightly embarrassed when the UPS man shows up with a package.  Does HE think it’s tacky?  Does the lady who delivers the mail?

Another neighbor told me my house looks like a little doll house.  So maybe it’s not tacky at all.  Maybe my neighbor was just feeling bad that day.

All I do know is, I have spent too much time worrying about whether or not my front door is really tacky.