Some one told me one time that I had class. Well, did not so much tell me as mentioned it to someone else and I over heard it being said. So now yesterday I had hours alone with myself in the car and I had occasion to think about class. There seems to be more than one kind of class, as near as I can tell.
If an older woman walks by, dressed in a sedate outfit, maybe a hat, rings on her fingers and smiling sweetly, one might say "That is one classy lady."
If a younger woman with an hour glass figure, short skirt and lots of bling sashays by, one might say "That is one classy broad!"
If we are entertained by an act that gives us pleasure, we say "That was a real class act!"
When some one responds well under pressure, they are said to have "class".
Well, I would like to tell you what I perceive as "class". That would be saying and doing the correct thing at all times when in a public setting. And what brought this on? Well, SWM (Single White Male) that I see on a more regular basis than any other SM (Single Male) wrangled an invitation to Thanksgiving Dinner at some one's house. Now, granted had I been cooking I would have probably invited him and he probably would have eaten with me, but I did not, so neither did he.
So, he talks to himself a lot and I am privy to his conversations. "I will take a bottle of white wine, since that goes with poultry. I will wear my black slacks, a white shirt, my camel hair jacket, the gray, I think. The black loafers. No tie. What will you be taking?"
"The car."
"What will you be wearing?"
"My green fatigues, if they are clean. The white and green tennies. An obnoxious tee shirt and the corduroy coat. I will snack on a bag of Clementines and tortilla chips with Black Olive Hummus! And Willie and Charley will serenade me all the way." Love that country stuff.
The man is over 6 feet tall and so he definitely has the height advantage going there. And his nose always seems to look longer when he looks down it at me! He listens to Classical music in his garage for crying out loud! He knows the origin of every painting on his walls. One is to be donated to the museum in St. Louis when he goes for his final dirt nap. (There is another one. He prefers to think of it as his demise.)
So, to make a long story short, I am here to tell you that class is here to stay. I am the working class, the blue collar class, the common every day country western lovin' hick or hillbilly class. My bumper sticker reads, "If it feels good, do it!" When I wake up on the wrong side of the sod I will be cremated and my ashes thrown to the wind. That way I do not have to lay in a dress on a satin bed and have anyone look down on me. But I do want to clarify something before I leave. I have a lot of classy friends. They know which fork to use and when to not cuss and all kinds of things. And most importantly , I know they love me just like I am and that makes the whole class thing a matter of perception on the part of the beholder. SWM considers me a unique individual.
"Gonna' take me to St. Louis?"
"Oh, hell no!" :)
If an older woman walks by, dressed in a sedate outfit, maybe a hat, rings on her fingers and smiling sweetly, one might say "That is one classy lady."
If a younger woman with an hour glass figure, short skirt and lots of bling sashays by, one might say "That is one classy broad!"
If we are entertained by an act that gives us pleasure, we say "That was a real class act!"
When some one responds well under pressure, they are said to have "class".
Well, I would like to tell you what I perceive as "class". That would be saying and doing the correct thing at all times when in a public setting. And what brought this on? Well, SWM (Single White Male) that I see on a more regular basis than any other SM (Single Male) wrangled an invitation to Thanksgiving Dinner at some one's house. Now, granted had I been cooking I would have probably invited him and he probably would have eaten with me, but I did not, so neither did he.
So, he talks to himself a lot and I am privy to his conversations. "I will take a bottle of white wine, since that goes with poultry. I will wear my black slacks, a white shirt, my camel hair jacket, the gray, I think. The black loafers. No tie. What will you be taking?"
"The car."
"What will you be wearing?"
"My green fatigues, if they are clean. The white and green tennies. An obnoxious tee shirt and the corduroy coat. I will snack on a bag of Clementines and tortilla chips with Black Olive Hummus! And Willie and Charley will serenade me all the way." Love that country stuff.
The man is over 6 feet tall and so he definitely has the height advantage going there. And his nose always seems to look longer when he looks down it at me! He listens to Classical music in his garage for crying out loud! He knows the origin of every painting on his walls. One is to be donated to the museum in St. Louis when he goes for his final dirt nap. (There is another one. He prefers to think of it as his demise.)
So, to make a long story short, I am here to tell you that class is here to stay. I am the working class, the blue collar class, the common every day country western lovin' hick or hillbilly class. My bumper sticker reads, "If it feels good, do it!" When I wake up on the wrong side of the sod I will be cremated and my ashes thrown to the wind. That way I do not have to lay in a dress on a satin bed and have anyone look down on me. But I do want to clarify something before I leave. I have a lot of classy friends. They know which fork to use and when to not cuss and all kinds of things. And most importantly , I know they love me just like I am and that makes the whole class thing a matter of perception on the part of the beholder. SWM considers me a unique individual.
"Gonna' take me to St. Louis?"
"Oh, hell no!" :)
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