As a mother of insane wealth and privilege, I have no idea how to relate to or even communicate with people of lesser means. What do they talk about? How hungry they are? How much they wish they could go to the Maldives? Do they even know what the Maldives are?
So when my son told me he was bringing his girlfriend home for the holidays, of course I asked him if she came from a good family. When he responded she grew up in the suburbs of some Ohio coal town, I shuddered. How on earth would I be able to host her for our very well-to-do Thanksgiving dinner? Would she know the difference between a salad fork and a dinner fork? If she embarrassed me in front of my esteemed and very rich guests, I would not know how to recover.
When the big day arrived, I decided to kill her with kindness. As she walked in, I told her that her Elizabeth Taylor perfume smelled great. She said, confused, "What?" I said, "The drugstore perfume you're wearing. It suits you."
As my butler took her coat, I told her I liked her Target sweater dress. Before dinner I toasted her. "I am so pleased that my son's girlfriend is here today and not sleeping in an alley somewhere rifling through dumpsters for Thanksgiving leftovers. He has always been such a generous and sweet boy."
So it was appalling to me when she walked away from the dinner and demanded my son take her home. I suppose impoverished people have anger problems that really only make them look more poor. I hope the poor girl gets a refund on that hideous sweater dress.