A Portrait of Elegance

I like to think I am a classy gal. I cross my legs demurely when I sit, I don't chew gum and I lift my pinky finger when I am drinking my tea. It has taken three decades to perfect my vision of demure elegance but I had a strong incentive to do so. When your family looks to be the poster family for the movie The Deliverance you try hard to not to look like the neighbourhood hillbilly. (In case you think I am exaggerating, let me describe my pops for you. Picture black, rotted teeth and stained grey tighty whiteys. Which he has no problem walking outside in. With nothing over them...But really, he is a nice fella.)

With my family portrait on my wall and in my head, I have worked hard to make sure my children aren't mistaken as those from a cabbage patch. They keep their elbows off the table, they don't (always) talk with food in their mouths and they say please and thank you like little pro's. I am very proud of them and their manners. I mean, they even clean behind their ears with out being told to. It is a constant battle but I believe that one day my children will be the poster kids for Miss Emily Post. That is my dream.

And they have me to set an example for them. Their classy mother. Who was playing with her nose ring as she sat and waited at a red light after their soccer game last night. As I sat there with my finger up my nose, scratching my itch and twisting my jewelry, I neglected to notice the car off to the right, which was full of teenage boys watching me pick my nose. There I sat, oblivious, until my son Frac cracked up when he noticed the car of boys pointing and laughing hysterically at my nose picking prowess.

I did what any classy mother would do. I flicked an imaginary booger at those giggling hyenas in the car next to me and gunned it as the light turned green.

And then I lectured my kids on the perils of nose picking in public. Because I strive to set a classy example.