envy

I met a new neighbor lady the other day who, in one word, I would describe as stunning. Her waist-length hair fell in a dark sheet over slender shoulders and framed flawless skin, eyes highlighted by a fringe of long lashes. Black wedges supported her willowy frame, and a gauzy black dress flirted with lissome legs down to there. Her voice soft, she spoke in chocolate-smooth tones. She presented herself with grace, humility. Admittedly, I had expected an older woman (i.e., older than me), someone who’d been around the block a few times (more than me). I reserved judgment: Did I even want to like her? After all, she embodied that which I desired: wrinkle- and blemish-free skin, thicker hair and legs down to there, the identical clothes in my closet and eyelashes of the non-flea-bitten variety. And then, in response to the envy taking root, a small voice within my spirit whispered: But she’s not you. Can’t argue with that.

What does your green-eyed monster struggle with?

Image courtesy of tigger11th at FreeDigitalPhotos.net.