So, I sit here on my porch with smug satisfaction.  Drinking from a leaded crystal tumbler. Drinking a little refreshing summer cocktail I whipped up with things from the garden: cucumber, basil, lemon mint, a splash of lemonade, club soda, vodka and a pinch of salt. I think how simple most bars are and how I can much nicer drinks for myself. Such pretentious taste. 

I reflect on my own life. How I would rather live in this hundred year old house with it's thick molding, hardwood floors, and high ceiling than live in some comfortable boring, ordinary abode in the 'burbs.... even if it is in the hood and refuses to cool below 80 for the months of July and August. How I am willing to trade these immediate comforts for the perception of refinement. I think about my past at Bridgewater or at the Governor's School and the satisfaction that came from telling others I attended. Or at work, where I just joined the Capital City Club. Each morning I sit and dine from a breakfast spread that rivals some of the nicest hotels I have stayed in. Or last night I, reflected on my own disdain for my parents TV viewing habits as I watch classic cinema on Netflix. Such arrogance. Such pretension.  

I wonder what I am trying to compensate for? My own trailer trash past? My country accent. The pervaise perception that anyone with a southern accent must be stupid? A critical father? I remember my last two bosses always got a kick out of making fun of my southern past. Was it from Governor's school and trying to  compete with everyone else? My complete ignorance to even the most elementary aspects of etiquette as a child? I can't think of any specific instances when I was spurned by a woman that would have caused this.

I also can think of just as many instances when I have embraced low brow activities, though I generally view these as satire. I feel different when I am enjoying nicer things. I suppose I am still mentally playing, but I feel as if that is where I belong.