An artistic temperament…
Carol didn’t care a fig for the opinions of the Steeple Bumpleigh Residents’ Committee. No, she didn’t give one snap of her elegant french manicured fingers. They just didn’t understand that her artistic temperament needed nourishing, and she refused to be aesthetically straitjacketed by a group of narrow-minded busybodies.
Who really cared if she kept her shocking pink Christmas lights up all year round? Or if she wore cocktail attire to the drugstore? Then there was her front yard full of carnivorous plants- beautiful sculptural venus flytraps and Cobra lilies- yes, that had really got them all going. (Especially after that horrid incident with Jimmy Basset’s pet stick insect…)
And now they it seemed they had a problem with the absolutely glorious mural on the side of her house. She couldn’t think why. Hadn’t she caught the very essence of the nude masculine Ideal- rendered in magenta and lime and tangerine?
Some people just had no taste.