Attend.

I... am a snob.

And, I know, there are levels of snobbery. I'm not a high fashion-wearing, valet-only (Cher Horowitz, anyone?), cloth-napkin-draping prima donna. 

But, I have standards. I have standards so innate I was scarred by a poorly designed motel when I was eight years old. Fucking road trips.

You want me to eat at a place that has no online reviews? Totally side-eyeing you right now.

I'm very aesthetically sensitive. I need my surroundings to be beautiful, clean, organized. I need the fonts of the establishments I frequent to be well thought out. I want my food fresh and unprocessed and presented in a thoughtful way. 

Also, I have the nose of a bloodhound and the tactile senses of that princess who couldn't sleep because of that goddamn pea. There are 3 aggressive latte splashes wedged into the life of this Toyota Tacoma, hoping to marry a lukewarm bottle of artificially flavored lemonade.

Where do you import your pulp from, sir?

I am not fucking around. I want my bedsheets soft, my lighting ambient, my air purified, my clothing lint-free, and above all, the details attended to.