Nothing against trailers as a low-cost housing alternative, but being raised middle-class and in military housing meant that I never had the opportunity to get my White Trash Girl on. But I know she's in here somewhere.
Case in point: Sitting on the couch last night in cut-off denim shorts (they're from high school and I only wear them because they fit and never out of the house), eating Saltines out of a box (the wheat kind), hair in a scrunchy (I only have them to put my hair up to wash my face), watching VH-1 reruns of Hogan Knows Best, I caught myself thinking, "wrestling kicks ass, y'all" followed immediately by, "dang, a PBR would taste good right about now." If I still drank, I might have finished off a cold 40 and passed out on the couch with a lit cigarette in my hand. In another life, my third husband might be referred to as "Tater Salad," I'd drive a Chevelle SS Malibu with no side windows and a broken taillight, and my best dishes would still have K-Mart price stickers on the back.
Just call me Queen Lerlene of the Airstream on the right.