I'm not prone to envy. I can look at others and think 'Ooo nice boots, skirt, hat, hair-do, nails...' without a twinge. I am resigned to the fact that I don't look as sexy as the other mums at school; my tummy wobbles when I walk and the under bits of my arms tend to swing a bit. Also, not being a thirty-something any more I find that unpleasant stuff happens when I run, (when I say run, I don't mean when I'm off for a power run, I mean when I have to lash about trying to catch a sick chicken or I'm forced to play hide-and-seek and I know the children will count to fifty as if they'd been inhaling helium, - y'know, Ruuuuuunnnnn.) But am I bitter?....not at all. Although I am big-time tempted by Lulu's new book, surely she is a witch who got a bit of the Philosopher's Stone before they destroyed it?!
(Picture from Amazon UK)
Lately I have found myself coveting, desiring and it's a need that must be filled in this life-time. I go hot and cold, tingling with anticipation. I check my hair as we approach the place where I might just catch a glimpse. I have a crush. My head has been turned and I'm ashamed to say I have been known to brazenly stare, even if my husband's in the car!...............I WANT that polytunnel that sits in the heather and gorse outside a rural property we pass on the way to school. IT. IS. BEAUTIFUL. Let it be mine! There I've said it; I've got polytunnel envy. That sounds like a REAL disorder doesn't it? I don't need a cure thanks, just the polytunnel.
I don't think I've ever been the envy of someone else. As far as I'm aware no one's ever thought 'Wish I had three chins like that...' or 'Wish my hair stuck up like that...' However I am proud to announce that my friend has confessed to me that she feels envy when she sees me. She has Larder-Envy.
I do have a good one.
We call it 'the dairy' because there used to be a dairy on the land (if I write diary one more time I'll scream!!!) although pantry and larder will suffice. We think it's lead-lined as it was freezing even in August and it is one of the reasons why I fell in love with the house. Like us it's not overly tarted up, rather it's practical and keeps Prosecco really cold - attributes we admire.
I 'spose the moral of the story is, go on, have a bit of envy and enjoy the envy someone lavishes on you.