Observing Dear Mama.

The Lady B’s dear mama ghosted me in Ashbourne this morning . That’s never happened before and I’m sure it wasn’t intentional. She just looked a little rapt withal (that’s a bit of Shakespeare in case you didn’t know.) Later I saw her talking to a shop assistant in Sainsbury’s, and thought that odd too.

‘My word,’ I thought, ‘dear mama engaging with one of the lesser classes. Maybe she’s on a mission to examine the workings of the peasant mind in order to achieve a more universal level of erudition.’

That last comment is, of course, made entirely in jest. I like dear mama, as I’ve said several times on this blog. I’ve known her for about eighteen years and have never detected the slightest whiff of snobbery in her mindset. She’s the classiest person I’ve ever known, and I’ve often observed through my own extended life that the absence of snobbery is one of the markers of a truly classy person.

Snobbery is largely the preserve of the upwardly mobile in our highly materialistic society, and especially notable among the self-made wealthy people who still preach the American Dream in spite of being the very embodiment of the lie.