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Documenting 24 Years of Envy

  1. to 1981 – Really don't remember.
  1. Next-door neighbour Bradley's treehouse, handcrafted by his father in solid pine, nestled in an ancient pepper tree, complete with devoted mother bringing tasty snacks at regular intervals.
  2. Erin, Kelli-Ann and Marnie with their long flowing hair, just begging to be arranged into elaborate ponytails, braids and bunches. I am tortured by Rapunzel fantasies but lumped with a cropped red helmet.
  3. Tracy's unshakable ability to colour inside the lines, using her expensive brand-name brand-new implements, not skanky stubby pencils handed down through three generations of tight arses.
  4. Susie's genuine three-storey Barbie doll house, not shoddy homemade plywood construction. Also her Sale of the Century board game.
  5. Ballerinas.
  6. Anyone who's Dad didn't drive an mortifying bright orange Valiant Charger.
  7. My sister's prowess with cartwheels and handstands.
  8. Kids with chocolate Paddlepops from the school canteen.
  9. Brenda and Kelly's perfect hair on 90210.
  10. Kylie's parents, the Mum who cooked dinners and the Dad with sparkly eyes who told dirty jokes.
  11. Anyone with a part-time job.
  12. Anyone without a part-time job, or at least one not at KFC.
  13. Anyone without acne.
  14. Anyone with a drivers licence.
  15. Anyone with a drivers licence who could comprehend calculus.
  16. Anyone who could handle more than one drink without feeling the need to get naked and/or sing sea shanties.
  17. Anyone getting laid.
  18. Anyone with a job.
  19. Anyone without a job, especially those good for nothing bludging university students who know nothing about the Real World™.
  20. That chick at the gym with the perfect body. Her limbs are long and elegant, muscular but still feminine and curvy. Her skin is tan but not in that Roasted On A Sunbed way. An hour of gruelling Body Combat class means a delicate sheen of sweat that enhances her perfect skin, whereas I am glazed and pink like a Christmas ham.
  21. Babies: Sleeping, eating, farting. What a life.
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About Shauna Reid

Ahoy there! I’m an author, copywriter and old school blogger. I love telling stories about life and helping my clients to tell theirs. Find out more about me and how we can work together.


31 thoughts on “Documenting 24 Years of Envy

  1. I too knew the angst of treehouse-envy. I still, to this day, resent any kid with a cool treehouse.

    Awwwww! Such a cute little child you were.

  2. and what exactly is wrong with a purple valiant charger?

    in my day (i sound so old) it was normal to give the peace sign and yell “hey charger”.

    erm, ok – i’ll stop right here to prevent any further incrimination.

    in 10 years you’ll be writing “anyone without grey hair”.

    i’m going, thanks shauny 😉

  3. “God, why can’t I have a sin to confess?” “but you do! The sin of envy!”… “that’s all very well and good for *sheep*, but what do we do?”

    Ahem.

    Good to see you’re still with us, Shauny :o)

  4. may i add

    1. skinny, nubile little things who make the whole plumber’s crack low-slung pants thing look just dandy and natural. mirabai should die.

    2. heroines in bollywood movies. oh, how i wish i could do nothing but float about my palatial kerala mansion and sing to cows when i’m not being abducted by evil sorcerers and subsequently rescued by twinkly-eyed men with a lot of chest hair and strange pelvic movements. but i can’t, because i can’t sing, don’t have perfect thick hair and look stupid in a sari.

  5. I’m going to do the obvious Shauny Groupie Suck-Up, because it’s true: “Oh, I wish I could write like you Shauny!”. And I do. My ability to tell a story is abysmal. 🙂

  6. But if we could all write like Shauny, Shauny’s writing talents would be nothing special. (Well, they’d still be great talents to have, but, you know.)

    (When I’ve accumulated enough Shauny Groupie points, can I trade them in for something?)

    I suppose envy is a combination of desire or aspiration, and attitude (by which I don’t mean ‘attitude’, as in ‘she’s got an attitude’).

    Depending on what attitude one takes, envy could instead be admiration, or appreciation, or even pleasedness for others. And I don’t think these things are necessarily even mutually exclusive. One can be envious of someone for something, but still be pleased for them at the same time.

    Perhaps the relationship between the evnier and the envied has something to do with it? Being pleased for a friend that they’ve got someone you haven’t, while being jealous of someone else, someone disliked, for the same thing?

  7. Simon–I bet Shauny would let you have Golden Boy for the right amount of points 😉

    Shauny dear, I sympathize–I never had a treehouse and I never understood calculus and I identify with pretty well all of those things. However! What one thing is Marybeth so jealous of she’d risk ruining reputations for saying so? The ability to write a chronology that doesn’t suck.

  8. You know, I was a gormless child who spent his early years amusing himself with strange, nihilistic fantasies about strangely Blyton-like scenarios. All the other kids at my primary thought I was great, cos they thought I was a rebel… whereas in reality I was just unawares. I think the only thing I ever desired enviously was a commodore 64. Early indications of impending nerdism.
    You’re envious of Babies?! Good Lord!! 😛

  9. ahh rachael, you crack me up 🙂

    scott – but dad’s charger was BRIGHT ORANGE, orange like a traffic cone! he also had a banana yellow one in the early 80s, and later on a white station wagon Valiant that looked like a hearse.

    as for all your arse kissers, flattery will get you nowhere 😛

    and pauly, what’s not to be envious of with babies? they get to SLEEP and sleep and sleep and sleep some more. that is my idea of heaven 🙂

  10. i am envious of anyone with a good blog.

    i’m sorry to have unnerved you shauny, but i like to be anonymous. it covers the fact that i’m not interesting enough to worry about.

  11. oh come ON, anonymous person, can’t you at least email me? it’s driving me insane!!! i am not scary! and i am sure you are interesting enough to worry about! 🙂

  12. My neighbour down the street who was four months older than me came to my house one day and pulled down my cubby house, with my uncle.

    Not envy, there. HATE. I was not ready to let go of that cubby house!

    Gotta love Shauny’s comments sometimes. Better than a shrink I say!

    (that anonymous person… I reckon it’s someone in Canberra, just to make things even worse!)

  13. I spent 18 months in canberra – theoretically! Was there for work, although in all that time spent 6 weekends in the town. Far too higher a proportion of boring bastards – read most public servants.
    Found this website when i did a google search for Dodgy Brothers – and found some good reads. But does reinforce my hypothesis that most people that can write a decent story have a personality abnormality. I’m afraid you are a touch neurotic Shauna – do you mind if i austrayanise that to Shazza?
    I may get around to putting some stuff on a website one day, but probly not today.
    What’s it cost?

  14. what was i thinking? can you please edit my entry to read orange shauny? *slaps hand on forehead*

    my primary school teacher’s car was a PURPLE one – i think your entry subliminally took me back that far.

    see! your site is THAT good, it screws with people’s minds.

  15. It suddenly occurs to me that the envious comments in regard to the envious post, whereby envious words dwelt upon the concept of envy, have made me forget about the other six.

  16. Mwargh! “Hey Charger!” My erstwhile father (gigolo hipster – a problem when your parents are 18 when you are born) was still stuck in his too-early-torn-away yoof while I was a teenager, and would make special guest appearances in my life by spontaneously deciding to pick me up from high school in his… ahem… 1977 frog green ford station wagon with fox tail hanging from the aerial. Not cool in 1992. I’d scurry and hide behind the bushes and be envious of those with ‘normal’ parents in ‘normal’ beige sedans.

    I actually think Chargers are way rockin’ and will happily chant ‘Hey Charger’ now that I know it was once a catchphrase. Tho this could have a lot to do with Grinspoon’s Guide to Better Living CD sleeve, and, we musn’t forget Marcus Graham hooning the streets of Fitzroy on ‘Good Guys, Bad Guys’. Long live Elvis.

  17. actually, i don’t live anywhere near canberra. i have never ever even been to canberra, or anywhere in a.c.t for that matter. 🙂

  18. The suspense is killing me! Just say who you are or we shall be forced to hunt you down and poke you with soft cushions until you reveal your identity! We have ways of making you talk.

  19. the treehouse memories seem to be a painful sticking point, i mused with interest as i scrolled… then i remembered my own horror- i had actually forgotten all about it!

    dad built my brother and i a HOUSE in our backyard- weatherboard, two rooms, a proper poured concrete slab and a front door, tin roof, everything. We got to paint it [orange, no less] and write our names in the concrete. we invited people in, made them wipe their feet, gave them imaginary drinks and then i would sweep the floor when they left.

    we sold the property when i was five- on a trip back there i discovered to my absolute horror that the evil people who had purchased it had turned our playhouse into a BIRD AVIARY.

    there was bird shit over my once-pristine floor. the windows were boarded over and it smelt.

    bastards.

  20. why can’t i have an anonymous stalker in my OWN TOWN!? 😛

    Cara – that is so cool, you own HOUSE? i would have loved that as a five-year-old. But to put stanky parrots in it, that’s just sacrilege.

  21. Another VERY funny one!

    I sit here huffing, snorting, squealing and this clearly NOT doing any good to my reputation (dodgy, to start off with) in this office.

    And WHAT a LOVELY head of hair!! What’s the prob! At least you didn’t have a cowlick to cut off down to the roots (age 4)…..

    I really should send you a photo of an ex-class mate of mine, known as The Troll. Now, SHE really had dreadful red hair.

    Sorry, can’t judge how it feels from the outside – should realise that.

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