Don't Let The Meat Spoil
Here's the thing about me. I grew up pretty spoiled. Not so much ages 0-14. But once my dad made the leap into the private sector, material comforts started heading my way. Example: I went to one of the most expensive colleges in the U.S. and didn't incur a nickel of student debt. My parents bought me my Corolla and paid the insurance. There is the aforementioned Smart Phone. Other examples abound.
We try to justify it all with the notion that somehow "I'm a good boy." I graduated at the top of my class. I got into a top law school. I got straight As. I can quote random works of literature at what are intended to be opportune moments. Etc. But the truth is, these are all pale rationalizations. The fact is, I'm spoiled.
So I enjoy it when I get to meet someone who is even more spoiled than me. Some 20-year-old who drives an AUDI A6 and whose parents send to a different Caribbean island (Tortuga!) every Spring Break, or pay the rent so they can live in a Madison Ave apartment. These people endow me with the sense of jealousy and corresponding smug moral superiority so many less-fortunates must feel toward me.
Here's to you, MTV's The Hills and My Super Sweet 16.