I sometimes think our house has the curb appeal of a fairway exhibit. Or else a parade float. I can’t decide which, but I blame our neighbors.
We live on a busy corner in an older neighborhood. At some point during the pandemic, a house across the street started flying one of those Trump-Rambo flags and I was incensed enough to not care whether our response made us look like we were trying to sell hot tubs at the county fair, or enter the Mardis Gras parade.
After careful consideration, we hung a trio of our own flags. Combined, they’re about a third the square footage of our whole house, and so aggressively brilliant and demonstrative. We’ve never been flag-flying people and I kind of waver on the edge of embarrassment every time the wind blows.
The neighbor with the faux Rambo flag moved at some point, and eventually we took ours down, too. We put them back up for special occasions, like to commemorate Pride month, for example, or Juneteenth, or welcome our part-time legislature to town.
