If you've read this blog at all — and you're probably too annoyed to do more than quickly scan it —, you might be wondering why I'm better than you. I mean, it's so obvious. I cook a mean vegetarian dinner. I clean. I write, okay so it's occasionally, but still probably more than you do. I knit things that people like or that I can wear. I sew. I decorate. I can bake everything I can imagine. I design loads of stuff for clients. I walk my dogs. I jog. I'm learning Spanish. I read gads of books on varying subjects, plus magazines. I do epic wallpaper. I antique in my neighborhood. I bike everywhere. I watch TV. I have a big garden and most of the plants don't die. I subscribe to blogs. I Facebook and Twitter. And when I go out, I am always punctual, even early. You might be able to do a handful of these things, certainly not all, and definitely not with my panache. I'm telling you, it's pretty awesome.
Why? What makes me so great?
Time. You don't have any. You're working or meeting friends for lunch or shopping at the mall or running late to someone's birthday party or casually stopping by the grocery store. You're always scraping together a few minutes to watch whatever show you DVRed last week. Not me. I deleted that already. You're leaving the house with intent, with purpose. I haven't had an unplanned face-to-face interaction with anyone in a month. Last week, when I met you at Chipotle, I ran four errands before lunch and cried in the car afterwards.
See, I'd feel bad for you, since obviously I'm superior, but I'm too jealous.