Okay, here’s another rant I’ve had brewing in my brain for some time — this GAWD AWFUL thing called “entitlement”. I am tired of the spoiled, self absorbed attitude of many, many folks — and, ladies, I’m sorry but it seems to come more from our gender than the male gender –in this country.
I sat down today to watch some mindless drivel as a way to pull back from having to watch my son kick his own ass repeatedly over a lost wallet of his.
I turned on the TV and stopped on this show called “The Real Housewives of New York.” I said, “Hmmm…wonder what this is all about?” (I’ve seen other episodes before, but only briefly and I was gathering much needed data for an idea I had about writing a piece on self-absorbed women in their early twenties — this just happened to be the blank canvas I needed to jump start this rant of mine)
Wow, just WOW. One of the ladies — the red-headed one, “Jill” was grilling one of the other wives about her 3-year old’s “unusual name” – Francois. Apparently, in New York, people of privilege sign their children up for private school when they are newborns. Obviously, this concept has never occurred to me. I’m more of a “Public school is oh so free! Public school is fine by me!” kinda gal.
Here’s the kicker to the “Francois” story — apparently, Jill is concerned that “Francois” will get beaten up by the other kids for having such a “girly name”. Then, THEN, she recommended the mom and dad start calling him, in what I can only determine to be an incredibly crass attempt at New York-ethnocentrism: “Frank”. Really? Personally, that sounds more like the guy you call when you need your toilet tank roto-rooted. “Hire Frank! The Man With More Visible Butt Crack!”
Oh, it was on at that point. I swear, it was like watching a semi jacknife into a Smart Car that was sitting on a railroad track right before the locomotive arrived. There was no way I was going to turn away now, nuh unh.
Then came “Tales of St. Tropez”. For those of us who may never see this side of privilege, I’ll let you in on a little secret I found out today about St. Tropez. Lean in, in case you can’t hear me all that well…
Apparently there is a “rich people” and “poor people” season for visiting St. Tropez. And guess what? Jill made sure Francois’ folks knew this — they went in GASP! August, when the room rates dropped from 2,000 dollars per night down to a mere 300 dollars a night — poor people’s rates, to be sure!
Oh, the nerve!!!! The HORRORS! And just so I don’t upset you too much by this news tidbit, I will gladly leave out the whole lesson I learned about visiting the Hamptons. (You’re welcome, by the way)
THIS is what is wrong with America, and damn it, I have to say something, before my head explodes. I am so sick (and tired ha ha ha) of vapid, vacuous and insanely wealthy people flaunting their lavish and purposeless lifestyles in my face. Sure I can switch to the nature channel, turn off the TV, or stop reading the tabloids, but it’s still out there. I see it all around me — the teenage girls with the perfectly coiffed hair and French manicured nails, wearing designer clothing, carrying expensive handbags and talking on 400 dollar IPhones their mommy and daddy bought them because they wanted to “be their friend and give them everything their own parents didn’t at that age”.
Parents, YOU are responsible for this. You’ve overindulged your children since the day they popped out, and have given them every thing they need or want. All they had to do was say “Wahhhh” and it was theirs.You’ve decided their self esteem and self confidence should be based on material things, instead of teaching them that hard work, determination, persistence, and tenacity pay off. What 14-year old needs 12 pairs of thong underwear? What 12-year old needs designer jeans? What 3rd grader needs a cell phone? Are you out of your freaping minds, mom and dad????
STOP! LEARN TO SAY NO EVERY NOW AND THEN, will you? Then maybe, just maybe, I won’t have to spend any more of my purposeful life watching women piss and moan about how they haven’t been given a “front row seat” at the “latest New York fashion show”. Boo freapin’ hoo.
Now, excuse me while I try to figure out how to pay my latest round of bills with the pittance my husband and I work our asses off to earn.