The deeper side of judgment

This afternoon I received a text message on my way home from work that read something like this: Anna Nicole dead.
Huh? I checked the sender and sure enough it was from Kelly-Lynn. So I called her and asked if she was just messing with me becasue the passing of Anna Nicole would be a fairly random bit of terrorism on her part, but one she is perfectly capable of carrying out with authority. She told me it was true and then went on to supply details about the Blonde One’s passing. After we hung up I called Auntie Jen just to make sure the news was indeed accurate. (My drive home from work is about an hour long and I figured we could not only clear up any confusion, but we could get some gossip accomplished as well.) Jen answered the phone something like this: “Are you calling with condolences for Anna Nicole? ”
So it was true. Jen didn’t have any details, so I filled her in with what Kelly-Lynn had told me. I figured KL’s information must be correct. After all, she does live in the Great South where gossip is a way of life and the likes of Anna Nicole wage a daily battle with the Greatness of Oprah. Jen and I then spent the better part of my drive discussing the deeper details of Anna Nicole’s life, the possible fringe benefits of home schooling and the bad side effects of drug abuse before I ran into a dead zone and lost her.

Fast Forward a Few Hours
Tonight I was in the kitchen making Loren dinner when he happened upon me putting the finishing touches on the meal. My mom then came in and Loren asked her: “Hey, did you hear about that Anna Nicole chick? She died. Probably drugs.”
My mother then informed him that she had been up on her computer reading her gossip column, and that, yes, she knew all about it. The two of them then launched into a conversation about strippers, marrying billionaire octogenarians and PETA. Apparently my mother is something of a closet Anna fan. During her winter months of insomnia bouts, she has a secret habit of watching the Anna Nicole show. My mom is quite a fan, especially now that she knows about the whole aged billionaire angle -she thinks it fabulous.
Anyway, at some point Loren said: “Yes, well she was white trash, you know.”
My mom, always looking for an educational angle said: “One man’s white trash is another’s red neck is another man’s ecentric gem. It’s all just about labels and judgments. Have you learned nothing at all from your performance of the Diary of Anne Frank?”
Loren replied, “Ugh, Mia. Not that again. But She was white trash. She was a stripper and always drugged out.”
So I got in on the action: “You know Loren, she might have been born in a shack but she had to have something other than big boobs to claw her way out of that sort of origin. She must have had a certain amount of the It Factor.”
Loren was so obviously uncomfortable discussing boobs with both his mother and grandmother in the same room. He turned bright red and said, “Yeah, um. Okay. IS dinner ready.”
I replied: “Sure honey, here are your chocolate, chocolate chip waffles. Hot off the grill and ready for dinner. You think Anna Nicole’s family ate much breakfast for dinner? The best of all white trash families do, you know?”
Loren shuffled his feet and then said, “Okay. Got it. I get it.”