Polishing My Hump

I’ll be the first to admit it: I hate snobs. I don’t necessarily mean members of the aristocracy or Daughters of the Revolution, although they can certainly meet the requirements. I mean anybody who thinks they’re better than me, more qualified, more entitled, more something that I’m not. Yes, I’ve got a 2 ton chip on my shoulder and I’ve earned it, baby. I also detest bullies and when the two combine, well, could there be two less attractive personality traits? I think not. Let’s call the snobbish side “Paris” and the bullying side “Ashlee”. When they merge into the creature we’ll call Parishlee, the synergistic effect might be scientifically fascinating to behold but few of us can appreciate that fact. We’re too busy being Pissed Off To The Power Of Infinity. I wouldn’t call myself a violent person, but many’s the time I’ve longed to bust my knuckles on smug smile.

Years of frustration later, I realize this is my own little (or maybe not so little) snobbishness. I’m so anti-snob, I’m a snob. At least I’m not a bully about it.


Yet.