One night about a year and a half ago, some miscreants wandered up and down our street and smashed the side mirrors and tail lights of more than 50 high-end cars. They significantly damaged our neighbor’s Lexus SUV then moved to our driveway where they whacked Olof’s BMW. But like the Angel of Death, they passed over my 2005 Corolla. I couldn’t help but wonder at the time: was this a class thing? Did they consider my crappy Corolla one of their own? Or, I feared, did they just think it wasn’t worth the effort?
I have it on good authority, for example, that you will see no fat people at the local Ferrari dealership receptions. Just like Nordstrom sticking their fat department on the third floor behind the rest rooms, do they fear their image tainted by the unsvelte?