The Comfy Corner

Boojie: "Fancy. Derived from the French word, bourgeoisie, which means middle class. They were never content on being the middle class and strived for the best...the upper FANCY class." (urbandictionary.com). Anyone with eyes and a heartbeat that has spent more than fifteen seconds with me knows that I am a boojie person. My ideal afternoon would be spent on a white couch in the Hamptons in the Barefoot Contessa's garden sipping rosé by the fire, eating hors d'oeuvres and chatting with Oprah and Ina about how dumb Sandra Lee's tablescapes are. Jeffrey would probably show up late with sorbet and flowers. I mean, I'm so boojie, I sleep in all white like I'm Jesus or something - my roommate can attest to that. It's a cleanliness, purity thing I suppose. I love white clothes, get into it. So recently, I was enjoying a lovely Sancerre rosé at the Front Porch (a local piano bar) and I thought to myself, "Self, where is this boojieness coming from? You were raised in the opposite of boojie - the boonie - so where did it come from?" So I took a quick trip through history.

When I was in elementary school, my dad would take me to the fanciest restaurants. He is a doctor and back in the day, pre-Obamacare, doctors were wined and dined with fanciful meals, late night trysts, dancing girls - and they could bring their families. So I went. So I grew up having meals at resorts in Hilton Head and enjoying seafood at the Grove Park Inn in Asheville and the Chateau Elan in Atlanta. I mean, I had a preference for foie gras and escargot by the time I turned twelve. I was a boojie baby. But I had no idea! I mean, you grow up knowing what you know, ya know? So I continued into my teenage years in blissful ignorance and I became obsessed with "The Sims" but I was not content on any of my Sims living in anything less than luxury. I built mansions for them with all the finest things. I was no stranger to "rosebud." Glamorous. We're talking elegant foyers, oak paneled smoking rooms, spa quality backyard oases. And still, I didn't know I was boojie. 

It wasn't until I was seventeen and I watched the James Bond film,"Casino Royale" that I realized I was a boojie person. I wasn't obsessed with the plot or the women or Daniel Craig's body (although, I wasn't complaining, okay? Excuse me, Daniel, walking out of the ocean with that body, shameful). No, it was his tuxedos. It was the money he was spending. It was the cocktails. The cars. It was the hotel rooms. The walk-in shower in his hotel room. The train rides. The yachts. The private dinners. I was obsessed with the boojiness of his lifestyle. I walked out of that theatre feeling like my life was severely sub par. I felt lost, confused, living a pathetic middle class life of Applebee's and Six Flags. And it was in that moment of devastation that I truly discovered who I was: a boojie person. 

And therein lies the problem. I don't have the money I need to support the lifestyle I so desire. So what do I do? I live by the idea that money is meant to be spent. It isn't supposed to just sit there and collect dust (what others might call "interest" - tomato tomato)! So when I acquire money, you better believe I'm on the town buying Tempurpedic pillows and crystal tumblers. I own three tuxedos, I own the softest sheets, and, on occasion, I have fancy dinners. One day, I will come home to a place that is lit with white candles with a fragrance of lavender bath bombs floating in the air. And all the furniture will be shades of vanilla. And all the floors will be heated. My counter tops will be heated, because ain't nobody got time for cold hands. And all the lighting will be on dimmer switches to create the perfect atmosphere for any occasion. Because I believe that even people without money deserve to live in a little bit of luxury. And when that fateful day comes, I will pour myself a white wine spritzer, sit on my white couch and say, "This, my friends, is a comfy corner." Stay comfy y'all.