My Favorite Snob
When partner and I first started dating, we went up to my favorite bar where I was more than a regular. We cozied up to the bar, ordered some drinks, and proceeded to watch the action on the television. Every television in the place was on covering the event: the 2000 Gore/Bush election. After were felt assured that Gore was our next president (Whew, that was close) we started talking to Barbara, my favorite Irish bartender. I happened to mention that was "easygoing" and both Barbara and my new paramour, Partner, started laughing. Simultaneously and heartily. Partner looked at me and said, "Seriously? You think you are easygoing?" And Barbara said, "You are almost everything but easygoing." For a minute I thought I felt angry, which is, of course, not the reaction of an easygoing person. They reigned in their laughter and Barbara said, "You're easy to get along with, but not easygoing." In perhaps the most easygoing moment of my life, I had to see that they were both right.
It isn't easy when you are confronted with home truths about yourself that you would rather not acknowledge. I've been doing a little of that the past few days with several things in my life-- some very personal and some others I'm more willing to blog about, one of which is my not so hidden snobbery. I don't want to think I'm a snob, and mostly think I'm pretty down to earth. I grew up in an incredibly snobby part of the world and like to think I've rejected that part of my past, but alas, I don't think I have. I think, honestly, that part of my reluctance to admit I was going to attend nursing school was rooted in that. I don't remember anyone wanting to become a nurse. Doctors, yes. It was as if a nurse was somehow not good enough or couldn't hack being a doctor. (I could have hacked being a doctor and even thought about going during nursing school, but ultimately I'd like a life.) And see me even defend it here? As if being a nurse still isn't good enough? And finally I even like the idea of being a nurse.
We're moving. Probably sometime in September. I've long said to Partner I could live in a box, but in reality that just isn't true. Number one, it would be damn cold in the Michigan winter. Since I nixed the box, we're (in all likelihood) moving to family housing. This morning when I was talking to my friend Jeremy on the phone about this change of address, I noted that our new place will be smaller than my master suite. "God," he said chuckling, "You are such a snob." And I thought, oh shit, another 'easygoing' moment? Am I snob?
I recalled lamenting that I would have to pack up my Waterford and china and not use it for a year. Yeah. Because I use it so much now? I also recently told a new friend I wouldn't be able to live anywhere that didn't have a grocery store that sold chevre. This is true and I don't deny it, but surely this marks me as a snob? Or at least a cheese snob?
I'm a newcomer at a delightful tradition called "winenight" and I thought "I better have these ladies over soon before we move." Because they won't like me if I live in a small apartment rather than a show house?
I think I've talked about how my family in Ireland was fairly derisive of anyone they called "house proud." I've never wanted to be that person: the anal house proud mother. I thought I'd grow up and have a ramshackle old house that was delightfully cluttered by children's things and wet towels and several dogs. Toast crumbs on the floor (I have that now too). Balls and nets and sporting equipment scattered on the grass. Kids running in and out. Cooking for whomever wanted/needed it and offering glasses of wine to parents as they came to retrieve children, who of course, were reluctant to leave my easy going, carefree home.
I'm not sure I am this fully this person anymore. I do like clean and organized, but I am hoping that this year (and upcoming years) of living away from luxury home life will ground me back into the person I more see myself as. While I'll always believe in a good chevre and like my floors to be vacuumed, I'll have to just let other things go. It would help if you stopped by for a glass of wine. Just step over the mess.
It isn't easy when you are confronted with home truths about yourself that you would rather not acknowledge. I've been doing a little of that the past few days with several things in my life-- some very personal and some others I'm more willing to blog about, one of which is my not so hidden snobbery. I don't want to think I'm a snob, and mostly think I'm pretty down to earth. I grew up in an incredibly snobby part of the world and like to think I've rejected that part of my past, but alas, I don't think I have. I think, honestly, that part of my reluctance to admit I was going to attend nursing school was rooted in that. I don't remember anyone wanting to become a nurse. Doctors, yes. It was as if a nurse was somehow not good enough or couldn't hack being a doctor. (I could have hacked being a doctor and even thought about going during nursing school, but ultimately I'd like a life.) And see me even defend it here? As if being a nurse still isn't good enough? And finally I even like the idea of being a nurse.
We're moving. Probably sometime in September. I've long said to Partner I could live in a box, but in reality that just isn't true. Number one, it would be damn cold in the Michigan winter. Since I nixed the box, we're (in all likelihood) moving to family housing. This morning when I was talking to my friend Jeremy on the phone about this change of address, I noted that our new place will be smaller than my master suite. "God," he said chuckling, "You are such a snob." And I thought, oh shit, another 'easygoing' moment? Am I snob?
I recalled lamenting that I would have to pack up my Waterford and china and not use it for a year. Yeah. Because I use it so much now? I also recently told a new friend I wouldn't be able to live anywhere that didn't have a grocery store that sold chevre. This is true and I don't deny it, but surely this marks me as a snob? Or at least a cheese snob?
I'm a newcomer at a delightful tradition called "winenight" and I thought "I better have these ladies over soon before we move." Because they won't like me if I live in a small apartment rather than a show house?
I think I've talked about how my family in Ireland was fairly derisive of anyone they called "house proud." I've never wanted to be that person: the anal house proud mother. I thought I'd grow up and have a ramshackle old house that was delightfully cluttered by children's things and wet towels and several dogs. Toast crumbs on the floor (I have that now too). Balls and nets and sporting equipment scattered on the grass. Kids running in and out. Cooking for whomever wanted/needed it and offering glasses of wine to parents as they came to retrieve children, who of course, were reluctant to leave my easy going, carefree home.
I'm not sure I am this fully this person anymore. I do like clean and organized, but I am hoping that this year (and upcoming years) of living away from luxury home life will ground me back into the person I more see myself as. While I'll always believe in a good chevre and like my floors to be vacuumed, I'll have to just let other things go. It would help if you stopped by for a glass of wine. Just step over the mess.
posted by Katie at 2:40 PM
2 Comments:
Hmmm. A snob, you say? I wonder. I've reached that point in my life where I want what I want: one of those nifty stainless steel refrigerators, a laminant floor in the kitchen, first class windows that don't leak, dress pants that last forever and still look good, dress shirts that fit (dammit!). If I'm an LL Bean snob or an LG snob then too bad. I didn't know what a chevre was (a car?) but that doesn't necessarily make you a snob--just a discriminating person who's earned the right to the better things in life. Like me.
I am so glad you are back to your writing..I have missed it! I think we all have a bit of snob in us..just like we all have a bit of everyting in us...that's what makes us interesting!
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