I am a snob. I inherited this trait from my father. Never got those blue eyes that could have helped me in the charm and disarming department.  No, I got the eye color that looks like mud on a spring morning and the snob gene.  I don’t really feel all that guilty about it. The snobby part that is.  I remember my dear old father proclaiming that if he died while in Walmart (where my mother used to drag him crying and screaming) that he would want his lifeless body driven over to Lord & Taylor’s where it would be placed ever so gently on their front steps. No New York Times obituary was ever going to state that he expired by the Bermuda shorts and novelty tee shirt department at Walmart.

The husband was getting ready for work the other day. He gets up at the ungodly hour of 5 AM which means that I might as well get up also. Lights, action and some low muttering about what one of my well behaved cats did during the night. Just charming. It’s like having all the really cool religious leaders sitting at the foot of my bed and going, “elizabeth, have a wonderful day. And you know all those things you wished for last night? Well, the UPS man will be delivering them to you today. And the Nordstrom and Neiman Marcus families want you to spend the holidays in Vail with them.” Notice they made no mention of Walmart. Even God knows that you can’t wash clothes from Walmart twice because they will melt together in the dryer. I have seen that happen.

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