Tuesday, May 06, 2008

Middle Classiness: a pox on it

I wrote, some time gone by now, that Middle Classiness was a topic for another day. This day is that day. But by all means, go back and read that post first. It is a doozy. Better, in fact, than this one.

For a man to have got himself a job that pays better than his father's did, or is cleaner, or safer, or easier is a fine thing. But it is a mistake to act as if a large salary comes with an hereditary title.

Middle Classiness is a part of the silly modern scheme where we all make-believe that what is obviously not equal, is. Admittedly, distinctions have blurred since the advent of Chinese-made Swedish furniture.

Still and all Middle Classiness leads to enormous dissatisfaction for a lot of people who can't help getting the impression that they should always do just a little bit better.

Every morning in the shower I bang my head, quite by accident, against a shelf that extends over the surface of my bathtub. I am thus reminded that I am a humble man without even a proper sized shower. I remember that before I had an improper sort of shower, I had no shower at all. God is good, I think, and I am grateful for what I have.

Missus Carriere recommends that I remove the shelf.

I believe this would be a dangerous method to engage.

Consider perhaps, I could remove the shelf. And I might say, "Carriere, you are a crafty fellow and have improved your situation". But then I might think that I would like a better car. I might, perhaps, get one. After all there is nothing the matter with a better car, so if a better car is what I really wanted, I might.

Then I might say to myself, "Carriere, so much overflowing with resources and talents are you, there is nothing you want that you might not get".

And I might look next at my house, and so the rest, until I were a slave to earthly things and ever dissatisfied. Worst, perhaps I might conceive the idea that I could have a better wife, contrive to, and find myself like wretched a French politician, which may be redundant. I don't know. If it is not redundant it is at least horrifying in theory and, I'm sure, quite distasteful in practice, and nobody wants that.

Let us save ourselves the anguish and damnation. I much prefer the satisfying crack of my head against a shelf each morning.

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