Artists were fixated on nude ladies, weren't they? This is the third day in four that the art-of-the-day has them, and I'm telling you right now, I'm darned sick of them. I've run out of things to say about them since I'm not all that interested in them anyway. Besides, today's artist seems to need glasses--badly. Might as well get this over. Here goes...
August 28--Otto Muller, The Bathers. Jeb and Max could hardly contain themselves. They were crouched in the bushes near the riverbank where the women came to bathe. Jeb's older brothers had talked about coming here and what they saw. Jeb told Max and Max didn't believe him. "Girls don't do that, Jeb," he said, shaking his head like an old man. The boys bathed only when forced to and couldn't imagine taking off all their clothes to do it either. "They do too," Jeb said. "I heard Samuel and Ezra talking about it." Max squinted at his best friend. "I could stand to see me some naked girls, we should go and see for ourselves." So the two eight-year-old boys slipped out of the village and wriggled their way to where they had a good view of the place--and the girls. They didn't know what to do with the feelings they were feeling except try not to giggle out loud.
I suppose boys are the same all over the world and in every age. Little pervs.
--Barbara
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