What is Class in the Twenty-First Century?

A couple of men in the past year have opined that I'm of a different class than they. For one, the Lemonade Tycoon used his "I'm-just-a-farm-boy" line to indicate he questioned what he and I would have in common over the long haul. And a current man has dropped his "blue collar" line on me a couple of times.

I don't see it. Yes, I love classical music and beautiful things and living in a lovely home and driving a nice car with a lot of built-in toys. But I don't see myself as residing on a certain stratum of the social universe.

I've spent all my life trying to fit in — anywhere! I've wanted to belong to any sort of group which would accept me as I was. True, I have always feared being a bag lady, and I don't think either a mobile home or a manufactured house is going to bring me comfort at any point in my life, no matter how sour my circumstances might turn. But I don't think I'm uppity or condescending or judgmental of people who have either more or less than I have.

That "blue collar" guy? He's a successful businessman. He is self-employed and owns a number of rental properties and provides for himself and his children — quite well, thank you very much. I'm in awe of his skill as a businessman. And he appears not to worry about anything, to laugh at fear. His collar is not tattered, so who cares what color it is?

I don't think I could be self-employed. I need the security of some company's deep pocket to feel comfortable. As much as I dream of creating and selling art-to-wear, it scares the living bejeebies out of me. Now I will confess to buying my Powerball ticket twice a week and fantasizing about how I would recreate my life if I didn't have to worry about an income.

Back to class. I think of myself as plain and ordinary. I don't see myself as someone who gets invited to $500-a-plate fundraisers or hobnobs with the local rich-and-famous. But on the other hand, every time I make beautiful-music-to-drink-cocktails-to at a big party in an elegant home, I wonder why I'm the hired help and not one of the guests. And yet what I enjoy is being in the background — being an accompanist rather than a soloist.

Is that what it takes to reach the higher strata of today's society: the need to be a leader, to stand out?

What are the classes in the 21st century, and how much do they or should they matter to a single adult trying to find a compatible significant other? Can't anyone put on a lovely dress and comb her hair and behave acceptably in the social setting that's not necessarily of her choosing? Isn't what happens when you get home at night and how you treat each other more important than some arbitrary assignment of class membership?