Once upon a time, someone told me that I was too white trash to ever have any friends. I totally shrugged off their egregious comment because I'm tough like that, and by "shrugged it off", I mean that I woke up in the middle of the night every night for about a month with the words ringing in my ears.
I silently protested, "I may be dirty, my kids may swear a lot and not wear shoes but no food every touches my table without a serving dish, I never eat canned foods, I read two newspapers every Sunday, and I don't allow the children to use adjectives when adverbs are required." However, I think today, this giant pile of empty shell casings on my food stained carpet may have tipped the scales. Yep, you heard it here, Mama Minger is officially claiming the moniker "white trash".
Now, I'm off to smoke Winstons and burn library books and cook the kids Cambell's soup and listen to country music and dream a little dream before I scratch off my lottery tickets.
Incidentally, whenever I'm super poor I like to embrace the role by buying scratch tickets and listening to country music. During one of my latest brushes with poverty, I realized that the central appeal of scratch tickets is that they offer the player one blissful Schrodinger's Cat moment before they scratch it. In that moment, they are both rich and poor. They can pay their rent, pay their pile of old utility bills, buy new shoes, etc, etc. Then, they scratch the card. The cat is dead, and they're still a loser. After that epiphany, I stopped playing.