So, in the Susan's community, I assume I'm infamous for shrugging at being fashionable. My appearance is likely worse than you might imagine, as I'm hard on my clothing, loving the outdoors and gardening, and I've painted two houses, inside and outside, in the last decade, so many of my clothes are torn, paint splattered, and stained.
Well, yesterday, I wore the worst of my sweat pants: baggy, saggy, ripped, and they looked like Jackson Pollock practiced on them. I also wore a dark hoody and a stained Cabela's baseball cap. Pretty, huh?
So, I approached a couple waiting for their order from a food truck. They were to the manor-born, as patrician as they come, and that old money was bred into their bones, as they were tall, angular, thin, and handsome.
I asked them if they liked the food truck's grub and they said, "Not really," and we all laughed and started ricocheting from topic to topic. The husband had the confidence and command of some Fortune 100 CEOs I've met and I asked him if he was a retired CEO.
He said he'd been a lawyer and his wife amended, "A very good lawyer."
I wanted to go find some food worth eating, but they didn't want me to leave and I love that about old money, that they're more likely to perceive value beneath the rips and stains than new money, which can be so uncertain of their status that they might flinch from a ragamuffin like me.