Last night I ran an errand to the Seven Hills subdivision in Henderson, NV. I have never been to that section of town before, although there are several areas in town just like that, full of swanky homes and swell sweatered squares all out jogging or walking their dogs or hand-watering their lawns while they scowl at everyone who drives in as if part of a neighborhood watch.
I by contrast arrived in a dirty pair of jeans (I'd just played with my dogs) and a t-shirt driving my ugly Saturn which is losing paint. The scrutiny I felt as I drove in drove me crazy, but they're right in thinking I don't belong there. I could never afford such a swank abode. Trouble is, they don't know that just from the way I dress or what I drive.
Years ago I remember seeing my dad read about the millionaire next door. The basic premise for the book is that you can get to be a millionaire by being frugal. So many people however live in visible excess, buying the latest fashion and a new car every other year and surrounding themselves with the latest gadgets. I am a holdout from a bygone era.
I resisted getting a cell-phone when I came home, I bought a new laptop last year but opted out of Windows Vista for XP, and I don't have all the iPODs and Sketchers and Old Navy clothes that festoon those around me. Even my speech sounds archaic. Instead of playing Halo and watching Alias, I retire home in the evening and read James McCullough's biography on John Adams and memorize historic speeches and busy myself in the study of the scriptures.
No wonder then that I'm not popular. There is no apparent reason that men should desire me. I don't have to drive into a swank neighborhood to get funny looks, I just have to open up my mouth and people think I'm stuck in the past. All progress is however not forward.
I by contrast arrived in a dirty pair of jeans (I'd just played with my dogs) and a t-shirt driving my ugly Saturn which is losing paint. The scrutiny I felt as I drove in drove me crazy, but they're right in thinking I don't belong there. I could never afford such a swank abode. Trouble is, they don't know that just from the way I dress or what I drive.
Years ago I remember seeing my dad read about the millionaire next door. The basic premise for the book is that you can get to be a millionaire by being frugal. So many people however live in visible excess, buying the latest fashion and a new car every other year and surrounding themselves with the latest gadgets. I am a holdout from a bygone era.
I resisted getting a cell-phone when I came home, I bought a new laptop last year but opted out of Windows Vista for XP, and I don't have all the iPODs and Sketchers and Old Navy clothes that festoon those around me. Even my speech sounds archaic. Instead of playing Halo and watching Alias, I retire home in the evening and read James McCullough's biography on John Adams and memorize historic speeches and busy myself in the study of the scriptures.
No wonder then that I'm not popular. There is no apparent reason that men should desire me. I don't have to drive into a swank neighborhood to get funny looks, I just have to open up my mouth and people think I'm stuck in the past. All progress is however not forward.
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