Entitlement Theory

I may be wrong, but I believe my biggest pet peeve in the world is entitlement. People who think they’re more important than everyone else so are entitled to make the lives of everyone they meet more difficult.

You know them. They’re the people who slide into your parking spot after you’ve had your blinker turned on for a minute. They leave a car parked diagonally in front of six townhomes, effectively cutting off the ability for fellow residents to access or leave their homes.

They bluster their way through lines to get to the front. Every event is one they have to conquer, to master. In my mind there are four categories of people. Those who lead regular lives and are comfortable with themselves; those on the way up who have to remind everyone that they’re important; those at the pinnacle who are #1 or #2; and those who’ve made it and don’t give a sh**. The last will drive a 20 year-old Ford truck and be a guy/gal you can sit and chat with for 20 minutes at a feed store.

Yes, that’s the bible according to Dee. I’ve met my share of stars earlier in life and that’s not a life I’d want, being on the road. It took too long for Jim and I to meet and share our lives, with dog Zoe of course.

Do unto others… is my philosophy. We help those in need and have never required assistance ourselves, but if we do, we’ll see what happens. There’s no blue blood running in these veins, no crown to worry about, just two people going about everyday life and riding the seas of this economy.

If we’re entitled to anything, its that banks pay back their loans from our money, and start lending again to homeowners and small business owners. We had to move across the country with nothing, all of our belongings in storage. Try moving to a place with another family’s pictures on the walls.

If you have Daddy Money, don’t pretend you’re something other than a pretender, because even if Daddy inherited his money, someone in your world should know what it’s like to make an honest dollar. Here in ski country, the rich kids come out to the grocery store and sell cookies or raffle tickets to make money for school uniforms et al. Have your parents write a check. Leave us alone. The “I’m rich, give me money” thing is stale. This isn’t the ’80’s. Dee