Why can’t these guys ever get new material? Katrina earns every dime, just from boredom. Christ.

buhWAH!

Poor bored doms. Poor uncomfortable Kay. Poor dopey Holland.

Whenever I think about people like Angela Frandina, I always sort of picture a woman, maybe with a kid, doing her monthly bills...so at the same time as she's going "I'm six feet tall in a viking helmet.." she's also going "Carry the five...wow, that's cutting it close...Ooh, baby, say it like you mean it...maybe I can pick up a shift over the weekend."

there’s a weakness around his mouth

I love this, right here. What an eye your Kay has.

I assume she would...detective, huh? And ML has the greatest "Let's get to the bottom of this," faces...she gets her eyebrows involved and everything. And those sighs, like she's seen everything twice, and it wasn't that interesting the first time, ok, hon? So let's just get real for five minutes. Just for fun, huh? And I think she's had all the best that being working-class can give. -Never cross a picket line. -Always look people in the eye. -If you make a promise and don't keep it, you better at least be bleeding.

I think she's had all the best that being working-class can give. -Never cross a picket line. -Always look people in the eye. -If you make a promise and don't keep it, you better at least be bleeding.

And erika sums up the first 17 years of my life in four neat sentences.

erika, I'm not working-class, but those were basic tenets of my upbringing, as well. And yes, the aristo half of my family was fiercely leftist and pro-union.

And you're so right about Kay.

Thanks, all...I was thinking maybe you'd wonder what I'd been tippling/smoking. Just being emotional though. I guess I've carried some stuff around since Stupid Stepmom didn't know what a scab is at Christmas. And I don't know...Howard's my kind of woman. But I didn't mean to imply you couldn't be that and have a chunk of change. And I'm not really sure where I grew up, class-wise, between working and middle someplace. Close enough to working to correct my Reaganite sixth grade social studies teacher when he said "Lower-class people vote Democratic." And I was very much a Lisa Simpson then.(In both the grade-seeking and crusader senses...that was a hard one for me.) But I still raised my hand and said "I think you mean 'working class', Mr. B."After that he didn't like me.

Are Maryland fisherman union? Aren't her family watermen? I always thought that they were independent contractors? I mean, working class, I suppose, but with their own businesses, like small farmers or shopkeepers.

You know...I don't know. Obviously, I thought so, but, possibly I got swept away by my own little rhetorical flourish, huh? At least I stopped myself from romanticizing the calluses on her hands or something...like some secretary with a gun. If I ever write about it in a story, I promise I'll look it up...it might screw my metaphor though, and that makes me sad.

For class things, I always go back to the medieval forms. My father was a skilled craftsman (upholsterer), so I figured I was guildsman class, which is fairly urban middleclass/merchant. The farmers I grew up with would have been peasant class, but the thing with the middle ages was that some peasants had very comfortable lives. It's fairly recent that I've realized that I have definite class assumptions--beyond feeling that there is no one on this planet who is inherently better than I. A friend of ours commented in passing that Hubby married above his class, and he agreed. I suppose it can be boiled down to the fact that I was expected to go to college and he was expected to follow his father into the military and god help him if he became an officer. Really. He was offered officer training, and he turned it down because he knew it would upset his parents.

Officer vs. enlisted, that's a hard concept for non-military to try and get your mind around.