I have spent a significant part of my life being jealous of others.
I have lots of reasons for this. Some of the biggies:
1) People who have an endless supply of children without much effort
2) People who don't have to work with assholes
3) People who don't have to work at all
4) People who do Weight Watchers for a week and lose 20lbs (How nice for you. Also? BITE ME)
5) Those who do not require the assistance of a sturdy sports bra or two
(As an aside, what sadistic bag of dick hair designed sports bras? Every single one I own makes my boobs feel like they are just at large. Hanging out. And smooshed. I need LIFT AND SEPARATION. Jerks.)
6) People who can do math in their head
7) People who can do math with the assistance of a calculator
8) Okay, people who can do math
9) People who have others that want to hang out with them
10) Anyone who beats me at Words with Friends
(Another aside: I know when you are cheating at Words with Friends. Seriously.If you barely passed 10th grade and send me messages that say things like, "Wut up grll?" and then play words like "pontificate"? You are cheating. Girl, please. Or as you would say, "Grll plez")
Anyhoo, it came to my attention recently that perhaps sometimes people are jealous of me too.
That made me laugh. Like, really a lot.
I couldn't have as many children as I wanted. I frequently have to work with assholes. Until 10pm. It took me a really long time to lose 20lbs. I'm wearing two sports bras today and it's STILL NOT ENOUGH. I can't do math at all. I'm super lonely. I had to look up the word pontificate to make sure I was spelling it correctly and frankly, I'm still not 100% sure that it's right.
I guess not everyone puts as much value in such things. Some people might be jealous of other things like my beautiful red door or my big Pentecostal Holiness Hair and the wicked sweet headband collection I have or the fact that I have the cutest dog ever of all time. Or maybe something else. I don't know.
For whatever reason you might possibly be jealous of me, I want to assure you:
I am probably jealous of you too.
No, seriously. I probably am.
I really wanted to say, "There is nothing to be jealous of!" and sometimes I really do feel that way. Hard. Like right now, for example, when the scale hasn't moved in any significant direction in a few weeks and nothing is going right at work and I have to go get my car inspected and there are several people really irritated with me personally for things that are totally beyond my control and my body will just not allow me to sleep past five in the morning anymore and I have yet to wrap all my Christmas presents and need to take two books back to the library that were probably due on Sunday and now I'll have to pay a fine. Oh and I haven't done laundry in a while and it's...well, it's piling up.
If any of these things do not currently describe your life? I'm jealous.
I don't want your husband or your kids or your house or your life. Or your dog. Or a cat, ever. Because my daughter is allergic, not that I hate cats or anything. The point is, I don't want your life.
You don't want mine either.
No, you really don't. I mean, my husband is great and my kids are great and Ginger is the best dog ever of all time, but none of them are perfect. (I would include myself in this, but I think it's obvious to everyone who knows me how very imperfect I am) They are all good for me and right for me and I am super happy to have them, but none of us are perfect. We don't get along 100% of the time. I'm sure my two teenagers sometimes think I'm the biggest pain ever. I'm sure my husband wholeheartedly agrees with this at times, especially times like last night when I was telling the longest story ever which for some reason involved the door from the house to the garage, a bra, Teen Mom 2 and cornbread and about half-way through I completely forgot the point of the entire thing but yet CONTINUED TO THE TELL THE STORY. I'm annoyed with myself for that one.
What I do want, sometimes, is what I see on Facebook and Instagram...those two second snapshots of your life. When you look pretty and everyone is smiling and you are at the game with your friends or hanging out with your family and everyone looks happy and all is well with your soul. Those moments when you say things like, "My kid DIDN'T scrub up against the side of the garage and make scratches in the side of my SUV!" (Um, projecting). The birthday parties. The stolen moments. The bright little flashes of memory and beauty that make life worth living.
Those are the parts that make you jealous of me too. I know it. No one is jealous of Laundry Mountain which is currently threatening to take over my entire closet. No one is jealous of the number on my scale right now or how very hard I've fought to get it there (not to mention the loose skin that comes along with that number, ugh). No one is jealous of what a mess my desk is or my student loan debt that keeps me up at night. I know this.
So here's the thing. You aren't perfect. Neither am I.
Let's just hug it out instead of being bitter. It seems like life would be easier that way. Don't compare my best moments, the ones that I most readily present to the world, to your life. I'll do the same.
I would totally come hang out with you....we can hug it out and talk about all of our imperfections :)
Deal! I'm just content to be your friend and happy to know that neither of us is perfect, but perfect for each other. Merry Christmas to one of the brightest stars on my tree!
Love it! It's a deal!
Love playing Words With Friends with you! You are a worthy opponent. I am totally envious of your house. I like envious rather than jealous. Jealous to me, means "I want what you have and I hate that you have it and I don't." Envious means, "I want what you have and I'm happy for you that you have it." I am not envious or jealous of your husband or anyone else's, because I've had three of them so far, and I don't want any more. Trust me on this. The grass seems greener on the other side, but the grass is pretty green on your side, too. :) but I understand what you're saying.
Post a Comment