I totally know I'm snobby about my co-workers. I assume they can read my mind thinking, "Yeah, I eat at places with one name; you eat at Mexican joints in strip-malls. I shop in boutiques; you shop in the South End mall." Yada, yada. It's an unpleasant fact of my existence, but I must face it.
Today I remembered one of the more flattering, to me, differences. We were talking about children's movies. I was all left out. I asked if "Tangled" was good (Thanks, Twinkle.) One of the women said her husband didn't even mind it. That sequed into me saying I made my dad read "The Help."
Blank faces. No one knew "The Help." I repeated it, as if that would jog their memories. More blank faces. I said, "Well, y'all better hurry up and read it, because it's going to be a movie this summer." They wrote it down. Then...I ruined it. "It's about the Civil Rights Movement in Mississippi." Screwed up noses, like something smelled bad. Oh, yeah, I forgot where I was.
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