SNOBBERY AND PRETENTIOUSNESS

I live in Ottawa, Canada’s capital.

I cannot abide snobbery and pretentiousness, and there’s a great deal of that in this City.

It brings to mind an event that took place when we first came to live on this street. I was invited to a coffee claque being run by one of my neighbours to “Meet Joanna” myself being the excuse for it being held and yes, it was an excuse – they held these coffee hen parties on a regular basis.

Well, it was taking place in the early afternoon,so when it came to a choice of what to wear, I threw on a pair of slacks and a blouse, ran a comb through my hair, applied some lipstick, and off I went. Welllll when I arrived and walked into this oh so posh living room filled with ladies, the first thing that struck me forcefully between the eyes was the fact that I was hopelessly under-dressed! These ladies wore posh dresses, stockings, Gucci shoes and handbags, coiffed and made up to the eyeballs, looking as if they’d just stepped off the pages of Vogue Magazine! Ouch!

I was handed a cup of coffee and sat quietly on a chair, nibbling on my macaroon, and listening to the conversation going on so as to get a handle on what these women were all about.

“My husband and I have been invited to Joe Clark’s for dinner next week (Joe Clark – Secretary of State of the Canadian Government at the time) and I haven’t got a THING to wear,” declared one matron.

“Oh I know what you mean,” said another woman with bright red hair (which didn’t go with the rest of her face – she and Lady Clairol were obviously on a first name basis). “Yes, Bill and I have been invited to the Governor General’s house for cocktails, and I told Bill I absolutely HAVE to get a new frock for that.” (Governor General – the Queen’s Representative in Canada, who lives in Rideau Hall).

And so it went on, each woman trying to outdo the other one. Suddenly the devil got into me. “My husband and I are going out on Saturday,” I said.

Well, everyone stopped talking instantly, and looked at me intently, in a hushed silence, wanting to know in which pecking order I belonged on our Crescent.

“Really?” inquired my hostess with an arch of her aristocratic brow. “And where are you going?”

“Oh,” I said loftily, “We thought we’d eat at Kentucky Fried Chicken and take in a movie.”

Well, you could’ve heard a pin drop. They knew damn well that I was showing them up as being the pretentious snobs they undoubtedly were, and needless to say, I wasn’t invited again – much to my relief, I might add. I think it’s pathetic that these women hung onto their husband’s shirt tails and basked in their reflected glory because said husbands were some bigwig in Government, who’d get invited to these elite dinner parties. Obviously they didn’t have what it takes to be individuals in their own right, and for their own accomplishments. I could never be like them, nor have their values.

If the purpose of these conversations were to impress me, they failed! I was singularly unimpressed and I have no doubt, they were equally unimpressed by me! HA!