The Finer Things In Life

My good friend R. (Missouri R. not to be confused with Maryland R.) and I went to dinner a few weeks ago and she was telling me about a purse she had purchased. Apparently it was a very good bag (I think she said Coach, but could be mistaken) and she got it at a good price at a Coach outlet store, because there was a small scratch on it and while she was walking around with it, thinking about buying it, other women in the store were stopping and asking her about the bag, because apparently it was one of this years styles, rather than last years, which it sounded like was all the store usually carried. This is the gist I got from hearing her tell it and I hope I get this right! Anyway, after listening to her tell this story and struggle a little with her guilt at paying a lot of money for a handbag, even if it was discounted, I told her that I was carrying my papers, makeup, wallet, spare change, cell phone, day planner, etc. in one of those $.99 Earth Friendly, sort of cloth, reusable grocery bags all the stores are selling now. Oh and by the way, it has a rip in 1 side! R's take on this story is that I am not getting my pleasure in life from buying things and that's to be admired. My take is that even if I saw a really good, high quality bag at a discount, I wouldn't know it. Even if I didn't buy it or consider buying it, I wouldn't know enough about these things to point it out and recognize it myself.
R will serve what she calls "a really good piece of cheese" as a course of its own at dinner. I don't even know that I would know what a really good piece of cheese is. And if you say "piece", I'm thinking of a cube of Colby jack from IGA, not a large piece to be served to multiple people. I don't know what a good year for wine is. I buy fish frozen from Sam's, not a "good piece of fresh salmon" from anywhere.
My friend C. & I took our 6 year olds, two Christmases ago, to a small, local art foundry to see The Nutcracker. This was just little girls enrolled in dance classes performing select pieces of the ballet for the audience, not the entire ballet. Afterwards, there was a "tea" for the moms and daughters. It was nice. The girls loved it. During the tea, C. started explaining to her daughter which utensil meant what and where it was supposed to be placed. And where the glass was supposed to be in relation to the plate. I just smiled and nodded and told McG to please take her elbows off the table. This is the extent of my "table manners". If there are more than 2 forks, I'm at a loss.
My parents were trailer people. I usually say it half teasingly, but it's true. I was born in a little, backwater town in SE Missouri. True, we moved a lot after I was 5, but we certainly weren't moving to places that I would consider the epicenter of high society. Cedar Rapids IA, to the best of my knowledge, did not have a society page. And my mother didn't spend much time (okay any time) teaching any social graces. Not that it really mattered, because none of my friends were deploring my lack of pinkie extension when drinking my tea.
I buy my clothes from Target. My sunglasses are $.99 and I got them at a gas station. And I guess it appears this points to my what? Financial sensibility? Maybe. But I just think it would be nice to say "Oh, this is a really good _________ and I appreciate the exquisiteness of it!" even if I don't have the money to buy it!
Not that I'm without appreciation of things. I was a classical music major in college, so I know something about music beyond Mozart and Beethoven and as anyone who knows me can attest, my taste in movies is very, very broad. Foreign language movies. Existential films. I am open and appreciative of all of them. That somehow makes me feel a little better about my own standing in this non-existent community I have apparently conjured up.
I took McG to the art museum for the first time last week and had a great time. She seemed to enjoy some of the art, we talked about some of it, what it looked like to us. There was a very haunting 5 minute movie called "The Accident" that she pronounced "boring" and the nudes were met with a perfect balance of shocked dismay and and hushed delight. "Mom! There boobs are showing!" Well, she's 7, so I'm not going to worry too much about it. Yet. I'll just keep telling her to take her elbows off the table and worry about the rest later!