The Dirt Field

I love (loved? do you change it to past tense after someone dies?) my grandmother and always thought she was a dignified, classy lady with nice style. In helping to clean out her house, however, my mother and I came across a fur coat (pretty, except for the whole ‘souls of countless slaughtered little animals’ part) and a mink stole. The stole was atrocious:

Where do I even begin? The intact faces, complete with little beady eyes and noses? The complete presence of three gutted animals, attached together head to tail? How can somebody want to walk around with dead animals strapped around their neck? More to the point, these things have their buttholes intact. Actual buttholes.

Fortunately, this style seems to have died (no pun intended originally, but now I can’t resist) and does not appear to be making a resurgence. Shame, too, since my mice have such soft fur…