The luxury of snobbery.

Being in a couple means you can be a snob and no one else has to know. M and I have a snob shorthand in fact.

Today I had the unfortunate choice of two mall restaurants to eat. We were starving, the journey to get there had been long and trying. My Mother and Sister had been up since 3am and hadn’t really had a meal yet. To them it was 5pm EST.

And when one of the restaurants turned out to have garish pictures of food in their display, it immediately gave me the clue: We needed to choose the other restaurant. I explained that any place with pictures of food is going to suck- it’s a dead giveaway. I was met with expressions of mockery and disbelief.

And I was faced with the sad reality: I will probably have to explain that one to most people now, will have to deal with the reflection of myself in their eyes as a snob. What a bummer. And how boring.

Chloe put time and effort in crossing the street to take a picture of the giant fibreglass Chinese horse in front of PF Chang’s today. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that they probably have 40 of those horses scattered all over the country, one for every half-assed hamlet with a mall and a sprawl.

See, I am a snob. Totally. And being in a couple for the last few years has really encouraged this. The royal WE has justified all number of condemnations, avoidances and snarky comments.

Of course it’s lead to some great shit too. Never having to explain (as if you should have to) why it’s a bad idea to get main meals from convenient stores is one. Experiencing amazing hotels, killer little restaurants tucked away from crowds of ignorant tourists, neighborhoods that harbor sweet vistas and crazy vernacular architecture, and other lofty pursuits is another.

Being a snob has caused me to choose the house I live in, the books I read, the tv I watch, the technology I use. I refuse to wear certain things for reasons some might consider snobbish.

So I like being a snob. I like it. I chose it after all, every last shred. And I liked having a partner in snobbery. The snob shorthand is so useful. Since there has been a previous discussion about said offending article, the subtext is there in your voice or a shared look. The garish food photos! Ack! Let’s go to the other one.

Of course I don’t think I’ll give it up. Partner or no. Once you can tell that a muffin is fat laden, that the lighting is all wrong, or that (worst sin of all) the graphic design is atrocious, you never go back. I just hope that I can come to some resolution in balancing my joy of judgement with my desire to be kind. I won’t tell my sister that her shoes are hopelessly outdated, and I should have never told my Mom her house was too dirty. Some things will just need to stay inside. Or here. Where they’re safe from hurting someone.