
Listen I am a snob. I am from New England, I grew up in Brookline a wealthy suburb of Boston, my parent's were college English professors. My dad took me to the opera, the ballet, and museums. The first time I went to see the Red Sox play I was confused how the game could start before everyone was sitting down, and why the house lights never blinked? I was brought up to speak with out the harsh sounding Boston accent. If my sister or I ever dropped an R or an ING my mother would scold us. Our room could always be a mess but our pronunciation had to always be clean. We were quality people. My mom still is, but this morning I realized that I have become white trash.
I was sitting on our little side porch folding laundry. The porch is also home to 2 plastic white chairs, recycling bins, a bin of beer bottles & soda cans that we need to take back to the store and other misc debris, including a pair of winter boots, gardening tools, and a half a bag of ice melt. I look up from my folding to see Alice has taken off her shoes, socks, and pants and is covered in dirt and running around the yard looking like she just ran out of her habitat in the woods. Dylan comes tearing down the driveway on his dad's old 1970's Big Wheel. The Big Wheel is in messy beat up condition Dave's great-grand mother found it in her basement last year and Dylan loves to ride it. Dylan dressed himself today and is wearing too short red sweatpants and a Cars tee-shirt with no shoes or socks.
I look at the kids, then I look at the messy porch, then my eyes scan to the woods in the back yard and see that their is scattered trash back there. I guess during these last few weeks of wind that trash from the recycling bins have been blowing off the porch and into the woods. I also see some of the kids old outdoor toys in a pile. They have been out here all winter, I was meaning to donate them to charity. The plastic toys are sun bleached and the old red wagon is rusty. Wow this backyard looks like it belongs in Appalachia not New England. I thought to myself
Then I realized that my husband has no job. That I have no job. I realized this while I was folding laundry barefoot and unshowered on my dirty porch, I mean I was folding my granny panties for all of the neighborhood to see, but it was such a beautiful day and I had to watch the kids. The half dressed dirty kids playing in my trash covered yard cluttered with junk. The only thing keeping my house from actually being mistaken for Appalachia was the absence of rusted out cars and a pickup truck with deer antlers on the front and a shotgun holder in the cab. But the family and the yard looked bad enough! There is no denying the sad truth! I have become white trash!
I had an important decision to make. I could clean up the yard, donate the toys, dress and clean the kids, and go look for a job ASAP. Or I need to just accept my fate and get a tramp stamp above my boobs, trade in the Subaru for an old Camaro, and start referring to Dave as my Baby-Daddy.
Did I pick up the trash or embrace it? What do you think?














