Monograms Are Not For Yards

When Russ and I were first married he lived in South Jersey not far from Cherry Hill. Cherry Hill was the home of the biggest Mall, not surprisingly known as the Cherry Hill Mall. As this was the early nineties the styles they sold in the Cherry Hill Mall were of the big hair, big shoulder pads and long fringed pocket book types. The natives also had an accent that really grated on Russ when I would imitate it. All in all there was not much classy about the Cherry Hill Mall.

As bad as the gum snapping teen-aged girls with purple eye shadow in high waisted jeans and cropped tops were inside the mall they were nothing compared to one particular house that was adjacent the mall. It was a white ranch house with a front yard that had a barge berm covered in white rocks with a big script “L” in black rocks on top. The tacky letter was at least ten feet by ten feet and looked like the giant “L” on Laverne’s left breast.

Every time Russ and I drove by that house I made him promise me we would never live in a neighborhood where people monogramed their front lawns. Thankfully he agreed and we left Jersey as fast as possible. I am sorry I never got a photo of that house because my description only pales in comparison to what it actually looked like. The tackiness of the Cherry Hill Mall was nothing compared to the House with the initial out front.



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