Smug with a hint of smug

I have decided that I fit into several "smug" categories. Categories that, when put together, create something so horridly awful that all friends and family may soon disassociate themselves from me. I'm talking about... The Perfect Smug.

The categories are as follows:

• Smug runner. You know the type, yes? You may have seen them out and about in EVERY TYPE OF WEATHER IMAGINABLE. Nothing stops them. And they have all the gear - from the nerdy little water bottle belt to the tight-fitting stupid reflective clothing. That is me. I fit into that group. And what makes us smug? Well, simply because we run. And you? Do not.
• Smug married. Hubster and I have both hosted, and been to, dinner parties. We have matching Sigg water bottles. We travel to places like the Galapagos. We like to hold hands and talk at length about how wonderful it is to be married and how happy we are and how life is only worth living if we have each other. We don't notice other people gagging around us. We. Are. Smug marrieds.
• Smug Toronto worker. I ride the subway with my iPod in order to avoid any conversation with the dreaded stranger. I wear giant scarves in the winter, tied more for style than warmth. I sometimes dine at places in "trendy Yorkville" and I have a daily Starbucks. I give people directions like "Go left at Harry Rosen, right at Sassafraz". I work in advertising.

Oh god. Am I smug.