The other day, a female friend and I were comparing notes about our husbands. It turns out her husband gets up extra-early every day to prepare breakfast in bed which he brings to her on a tray with a single red rose, then performs certain lewd acts on her downstairs department with his tongue, before telling her he loves her more deeply than ever and heading out to work. My husband, on the other hand, takes an enormous dump, shouts obscenities at Christine Bleakely and Adrian Chiles and then buggers off leaving his dirty plate and mug lying on the living room floor. Surely there must be something I can do to get one over on this awful woman and her bastard husband?
It’s never a good idea to start comparing what you have with others, as it always leads to jealousy and unhappiness. I used to hate Amanda Sullivan with a burning passion because she always had the prettiest dolly, and the fastest bike, and the sparkliest pencil case, and she bragged about this constantly. It seemed that nothing could assuage the misery which developed from having to watch her get the most expensive and fashionable stuff for birthdays and Christmas while I had put up with rubbish and embarrassing presents from Poundstretcher selected by my half-demented, vision-impared granny. What I quickly learned was that the best course of action in this type of situation isn’t to sit around and be envious, but instead to take the initiative and fabricate some damaging rumours about your enemy so that no-one cares if she’s got better stuff than you because everyone now thinks her mum had sexual intercourse with the janitor.
Hope that helps!