I resent them for being fitter than me and healthier than me and wealthier with this forced perfection that they all emit from every perfectly stitched seam of their designer clothes to every pore of their luxuriously spa-ed skin.
You can see their money and hear it. They're so polished, coiffed and sleek. The sound of their voice tells you where they grew up, where they went to school, the types of conversations they're a part of during their well-manicured tirade through the corporate world.
I try not to feel so obviously covetous, so jealous of the possessions and appearance and status I never knew I wanted til I saw it draped across a back, shining from an ear, glinting off a tie, or jutting from a hip bone through $75.00 spandex yoga pants.
I catch myself sometimes wishing I could wear some sort of badge or transmit a kind of telepathic signal that lets people know I was in the Peace Corps or that I'm working on a graduate degree. Some sort of, "Hey, I'm impressive too," referencing those things about me that seem important but really aren't.
I lived in a small village in Bulgaria and taught English. So did my Bulgarian counterpart and no one's praising her for her selflessness or adventurous spirit. Not that I'm trying to diminish my service. I'm just being realistic. The impact made on me was far greater than any imprint I left. And maybe these people feel the same way - that too big a deal is made out of what they do and who they are.
I suppose it's possible that they're like Lance Armstrong - forced to do what they don't want to in order to compete with everyone else who, ironically, feels the same way. Doping up for the race, striving for success even if the means to The End cause them to keep up in ways that are counterdispositional.
However, no more excuses for them. Or me. Let's continue, shall we?
It's the couples that really get me: gorgeous paired with gorgeous. Above-average-made-gorgeous-by-nice-clothes-over-sinewy-muscles paired with above-average-made-gorgeous-by-golden-highlights-dangling-inches-above-kickboxing-asses.
They make me want to get my hair cut by someone named Jean Luc and eat celery on purpose.
Now, I know you're chastising me in your minds telling me I should be satisfied with who I am and the life I'm living. I know that. Trust me, I do. And I am. Seriously, I am. It's just that sometimes I want shiny things too.
-Age
