Nope, not you. Me.
Maybe she's born with it. (Maybe it's Maybelline.)
Nah, in this case, you were born with it. The unfortunate circumstance of having been born, and subsequently having to tolerate our small hometown aside, you were brought into the world on the top. Wealthy, ravishingly beautiful, intelligent... there's not a single thing I could say against you. Except that I don't know if your lack of communication is a smug superiority or shyness.
You've segued your success in simply being into a lucrative career of stacking the six books your clients own into a display based on their size and color -- and adding a bud vase on an adjacent shelf. Once every few weeks, you'll post pictures on a blog showing how one could possibly function while fitting a mail-organizing desk in a 2000-square-foot Manhattan apartment. Not that I lack appreciation for aesthetics, or understanding that some people have a need for everything in the world to be just so. But it appears that you are living a VERY posh life in NYC, dedicated to a career based on (others') superficiality and outward appearances. Every molecule of my being cries out "No fair!"
Yes. I am jealous. I've had so many challenges and crises to work through in my life, and luckily have met no great harm doing so, but haven't been rewarded with a life straight from the pages of well, every magazine depicting the ideal life experience. I can't help looking at your life (and what do you do, have a professional photographer tag along every time you leave the house?) and wondering how some people literally dig ditches for sixteen hours a day, before returning home to cabbage soup and a dirty mattress on the floor.
Jealousy aside, I can't continue our "friendship" because I lose all perspective of my own successes and faith in the order of the universe. I'm sure you wouldn't want me to bear the weight of all that, would you?
No comments:
Post a Comment