Anyway, I was having a conversation with Bestie mate down South (or sarf as I inadvertently end up calling it whilst talking with her) about how some time in the next few months Elder and I plan on having a trip back to Gillingham to pop in on some old mates we haven't seen since moving.
I then had a conversation with Elder about said trip to Gillingham (and how we plan on using the neglected services of Eldest Sister in law for 4 years of back dated babysitting duty) and how nice it will be to see everyone.
I made the same joke to both (I'm not good at jokes and tend to repeat ones I find funny. I'm kind of like Zooey Deschanel in New Girl). I thought it was funny. They did not.
So, what was it I said?
It was basically that if I am going to go home to Gillingham, I shall have to dig out my Argos clown necklace, my Reebok Classics and my scrunchie. (When talking to Bestie Mate Down South it was more "me" than "my" though). Not to mention my market knock off designer handbag (Loeey Votton anyone?) and my fake Juicy Couture tracksuit.
Bestie Mate said I was lucky to be on Facebook or she'd have slapped me. And Elder told me I had become a Maidenhead snob.
Admittedly, the case for the defence is lacking.
I may not have ever been a member of the tracksuit/scrunchie/clown/classics school of fashion. However, I did kind of mooch around in baggy old jeans, with rips. I wasn't great at make up. I never bothered with getting my eyebrows tweezed. I was a slob, just not a chav slob.
I do get slightly anal about taking Mini to school. I have to put my make up on, and have to sort my hair. I also wear nice clothes- I physically can't go out scrufty these days because kids can be cruel if your mum looks like a scruff.
Oh and I don't wear a naff coat. I wear my (fake) fur coat instead.
I have to say though, I'm not the only one in the playground who makes a bit of an effort. One lady I chat to always dresses nicely. The Polish Mummies are all goddesses in nice jeans and jackets (one of them wears a fur coat too). There is a divide between the "fallen out of bed, not brushed hair" Mummies and the likes of me and the "cant leave the house in dirty old tracksuits minus make up" Mummies.
Granted this divide was not helped back in July when good old foot in mouth me was discussing puffa jackets (It being July no one had coats on), and I happened to innocently mention I'd rather die than be seen in a puffa jacket. "Why not just roll up in ill fitting trousers and a duvet" were my added faux pas. I now realise the group I happened to be talking to were of the puffa jacket variety. Death stares anyone?
I think nothing now of swanning round with take out coffee-something completely alien to me in Kent. I'm always on Twitter on my phone. I carry a designer handbag.
My phone in Kent took half hour to send texts. My bags were Primark.
So, yes, perhaps I have become a bit snobbish- or my friends in Kent might think so.
I kind of see it as evolving, as changing. As growing up.
I'm certainly more comfy in my own skin here. Even with my scuzzy clothes in Kent I still stuck out like sore thumb for not being a track suit wearer. I deliberately used to buy any trainer other than Reebok.
I don't see it as fitting in but finding my place.
The old me is still there. Bad jokes and all.
So, your view- snob or not?
Let's hear you!