As I opened my car door this afternoon, heat visibly wafted from the car. In a rush, I plopped myself in the drivers seat, turned the engine on, rolled all the windows down, cranked up the a/c, and touched the little button on my touch screen to turn on the driver's seat a/c.
Suddenly, my spine stiffened. The hair on the back of my neck stood at attention. I thought to myself, "Wholly crap. What was that? Thanking God for coochie air conditioning? Really? Who am I? Oh, my...I sound. Snobby."
I decided right there and then I wouldn't tell a soul.
But, let me tell you, it doesn't take long for people to become accustomed to such absurdities. I'm not the only one.
Here, let me throw Doc H under the bus, too.
Let me remind you, Doc H was on a diet of powdered Hostess donuts, Yoplait yogurt, and frozen TV dinners when we met. He was a culinary misfit and deviant. His scientific mind believed in "calories in, calories out". Nutrition meant nothing to the Doc. Insane, I know.
When we met, we would happily frequent eateries such as Boston Market and Chili's. Then our finances began to stabilize and we began dining at more upscale restaurants to mark special occassions. We liked it. The food was yummy, fresh, and organic. Our finances continued to improve. If we weren't eating at home, we would eat out. We began scouring our area for fantastic restaurants. Our palates were shifting towards refined. We became "foodies".
We shifted from our diet coke and iced tea to glasses of house wine. That grew into glasses of specific bottles of wine. Then came bottles of wine by winery, type, and year. Yes, we're far down that road.
But here's when I knew Doc H was well down the road to snobbery:
Doc H: Honey?
Me: (still reviewing the menu and not looking up) Um-hmmm?
Doc H: You know... I really don't want to eat at restaurants with pictures on the menu anymore.
So we don't, or at least, I try not to when we are out with Doc H.
It's a slippery road. One I'm not particularly proud of...