I am a snob. I’m not proud and thrilled to say this – it goes against my ethics and values, snobbery. There are small ways I’m snobby that don’t produce such shame: I’m snobby about good literature, I’m snobby about good writing, I’m snobby about movies (all together, I see that I’m snobby about storytelling). I go back and forth in judging myself about this; on the one hand, life is too short and there are too few hours to waste them on stuff that feels insulting to me. On that hand, it’s not an issue of snobbery as much as it is an issue of selecting what I like. No problem there. But on the other hand, the bad hand (let’s say it’s the left, sinister hand), it’s not ok when I think I know something about people who like books and movies that I judge poorly. That is NOT ok. So I struggle with this, but I wouldn’t say it keeps me up at night.

But I’ve had to face the fact that I am a terrible class snob. Class in America is weird; it certainly exists, obviously, but we all pretend it doesn’t (unless we’re discussing it academically). I have a terrible attitude about wealthy people; I’m sure some of it comes from a place of envy, since I’m sure I’d be so darling at being rich and I wouldn’t be nasty about it and it wouldn’t spoil me and I’d be so generous and I don’t want a palace, just a place that’s big enough for me to have a library room of my own. I’d travel and write and read, and I’d be a nice person. Some of my terrible attitude is political, when I see how our society is structured by the extremely wealthy to reward the extremely wealthy and punish the poor. But envy and politics aside, my terrible attitude is more personal. I just don’t like them, I think they’re silly, superficial, trivial. (Note: I don’t personally know any wealthy people, so this is an untested belief I hold.)

And then I got a new client. She’s in the society pages, she and her husband attend events and balls that don’t even register for me. She’s beautiful, in a society way, and she wears a giant rectangular diamond, clothes that are probably designer (I favor Express and The Gap sale rack), boots and bags that people in her set probably recognize immediately (my bag is from the sale rack at Century 21, and I love it). When we first met, I kept our class differences between us and I interacted with her in a particular, probably overly-formal way. But as we’ve continued to interact, my snobbery has broken down and I see that she’s funny, and kind, and warm, and uncertain about herself, and sensitive to slights by snobby people in her world, and very sweet.

I struggle with myself, and try to retain my snobbishness by thinking, “yeah, but she’s probably just one of the good ones.” GOOD GRIEF LORI.

Our class differences do exist, and we’d likely never become hanging-out girlfriends. I doubt our relationship will ever exist outside the work we do together; what would we do?! But when we see each other, we chatter, and we share our lives with each other, we confide – to a still-shallow level – our worries, and we hug when we part. I really like her, so much, and so I face myself in the mirror and wag my finger, and give myself a good talking to.