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I was at a fun event, chatting with husband-and-wife doctors, when the guy said, "I have to go. I have to help my sixth grader study for his midterms." Oh my God! Help my sixth grader study for his midterms? I hadn't thought of that! Are people doing that?
So I went home. My sixth grader was watching Nyan Cat videos.
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Observed today, at a gas station in the heart of snoburbia:
The button with the most worn-out label was the one for 93-octane supreme.*
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* Hey, you gas station owners: We are not fooled by your switching the order of the octane around - 93, 89, 87.
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I am always searching for an alternative to my Cheetos/Diet Pepsi/Nutella cocktail, as I will acknowledge it is perhaps not the best for achieving optimal health. And in snoburbia, you must constantly question and analyze your food choices for corporate responsibility and sustainability. In snoburbia, eating something because it tastes good is verboten.
So I was happy to discover a new favorite: Honest Tea's orange mango,* which has "50 percent less sugar" and contains "mangosteen, a delicious fruit from Thailand." It's organic! I have always diluted juice by at least 50 percent, so this watered down, barely sweet concoction is quite good. And its origins are right here in snoburbia. And they sell it at the snobby deli in Cabin John along with the popped chips and Italian wine. More importantly, Honest Tea "...addresses the needs of economically disadvantaged communities."
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* I just noticed that the new plastic bottle has a nearly-3/4-inch indentation hidden in the bottom. Honest.
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When I saw this floating around on Facebook, I thought it was really funny. But I also thought that it could never happen in snoburbia because no one around here does the lights overkill thing. You can't overkill understatement, right? But then I was driving and saw the snoburbia version:
Just...one...more...garland.
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In snoburbia, there is always something new about which to become snobbish. It's exhausting.
Take today, for instance. I innocently stepped into the snoburbia specialty luggage store to buy a new wallet.
So I started looking around the store at luggage. After all, I need to replace the cute, polka-dotted suitcase my daughter swiped from me. I was happy with that polka-dotted bag. I bought it a few years ago - it came with a second bag for a total price of $49.99 (JCPenney).
Luggage is just something I never have thought about. If it holds my stuff and fits into the overhead compartment, I'm good.
But after spending time in the luggage store with a very persuasive salesman, I now realllly want either the Briggs & Riley bag ($299), or the Tumi Voyager ($495). Or will the hard-sided Titan USA spinner in ocean blue ($660) haunt my dreams?
Still, I might see if there is hope at Target.
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In line at the bank yesterday, there was one of those snoburban moms behind me who was chattering away to her four year old: "You looked at art today at school - what was it? Monet? Renoir? Picasso? What did you learn?" and other loud questions, for all of us to hear.* That's because her child is the only child in the universe, and none of us ever has had children.
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* We had the Appalachian equivalent of this in my hometown, when the old guy at the front of the city bus would talk to the bus driver about his goiter.
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Overheard at Montgomery Mall, from a loud gaggle of Ugg-booted, abercrombie be-jegginged group of preteens:
Tween 1: I made the honor roll!
Tween 2: So? Everyone makes the honor roll! I got all As and one B
Tween 3: I got straight As!
Tween 4: So did I!
These kids would have been beaten to a bloody pulp in my hometown. They certainly would have kept this information to themselves or within the family unit until they received their college acceptances.
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In snoburbia, you just never know what will occasion a mention of how impressive your child is.
During the weekly announcements at Mass,* while talking about an upcoming holy event, the announcer casually let it slip that her daughter had received a [amount] scholarship to [name] university.
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* I used to be a C and E Catholic, but now have downgraded to a when-my-mom-is-in-town Catholic.
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The student directory at the local snoburbia middle school - always in paper booklet form - is now being delivered in "app" form:
The App is accessible through iPhone, Android, Blackberry and even your desktop computer.
I guess that makes it official - I'm the last one in snoburbia with a dumb phone. My children and my friends laugh at my phone ("You don't have auto-correct??"). And the other day, a guy next to me looked over at my phone, smiled and said, "Niiice phone." He had the same one, and we commiserated about the unspeakable humiliation. Here it is, an antique, circa 2009:
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School volunteering in snoburbia: This is where former lawyers, journalists and Ivy graduates who are stay-at-home moms fight for the plum jobs that will win them reverence and thank yous from other former lawyers, journalists and Ivy graduates who are stay-at-home moms.
The desirability of any volunteer job in snoburbia is directly proportional to the amount of kudos the previous volunteer received on the PTA listserv. Desirable job: teacher appreciation breakfast chair. Desirable job: holiday bazaar chair. Desirable job: fun fair chair. Not so much: classroom volunteer. Not so much: room parent.
I was a room parent for ten years in a row at my children's elementary school, organizing classroom Halloween and Valentine's parties, and organizing the teacher gift* at year end. I tried to be holiday bazaar chair but didn't have the credentials.
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* This consists of getting people who have more money than you to pony up $10, that they promise you they'll give you "tomorrow." So you buy the $200 gift certificate, the teacher thanks you, and then after a few emails to the scofflaws, you give up and eat about $80 in expenses.