Anyways, I was there replacing the tagine my mom got for me; it had cracked in the oven so I needed to pick up a new one. When exchanging it, the girl behind the counter informed me to my utter delight that the tagine was now on sale so I was free to roam the store and trivially spend an extra $2o.
Oh, the joy of frivolously spending free money!
As I danced in my own candy store, hovering over place mats, fawning about the flatware, enveloping myself in curtain samples, and mentally putting together future bedroom sets in my head I couldn't help but smile. Then suddenly a shrill cry shattered the air whilst I was fondling the display bedding.
"Oh, we can just get this table! It's no worry, if my husband doesn't like it, we'll give it to someone else, or take it back, or throw it away or whatever!"
I stared at her, and her tight, tan, personally trained body. Her suspiciously perky breasts. Her too taught face with a slight bit of healing still occurring around the professionally highlighted hairline. She waved her bangled wrists as she motioned to some benches. "Package these up too! They look good with this table!" They didn't.
"Ooo! What's this?" she squealed to the poor part-timer whom she had enslaved. She strolled up to the tagine display.
"A tagine. It's used in African cooking or something."
"I'll get one of those too, it'll look good on the mantle." She then gracefully turned around on her Gucci 3 inch heels and went to conquer another section of the store.
And I was angry.
I was, in fact, furious. For lots of reasons. For self-deserving air-heads being able to do what I could only wish for simply because they were born well-off and married rich. Angry that she didn't seem to care about anything but looks and possessions. Angry that I was only just starting grad school, and had so long to go until I could get a home of my dreams. Even then, I doubt I could do it on a whim, like her.
And then, I calmed down. I'm 24. My life is pretty good where it is, and I'm working hard to make it better. Plus, she might get scarring from the plastic, and her skin is destined to become like a weathered leather handbag you find in your granny's attic, so yayness there.
We all succumb to jealousy. We're only human after all. Plus, I at least know how to use the tagine.