I suppose if I ever have an official beau I wouldn't be considered the "jealous type." Most likely because I may never actually have a real-life boyfriend. Like, facebook official or anything. Nonetheless, I, like everyone else, experience pangs of jealousy every once and a while.
It's interesting, though. Jealousy is hard to describe. The lines between adoration, amusement, intrigue, and envy are skewed. In a case of adoration, one loves the things they see in the object of adoration. In a case of amusement, one finds the humor or loveliness in the object of amusement. In a case of intrigue, one wishes to know more about the object of intrigue.
Envy, however, is difficult to put into words. There is a love in all things that one sees in the object of envy, but one hates the lovely things. There is intrigue. There is amusement. It is just hard to put into words the feelings associated with it.
It's exhausting. I don't understand where it comes from. There are wonderful women who I aspire to be like. Women I enjoy spending time with. Women whom I love. Women who are well-dressed and funny and classy whom I don't hate in the slightest. And there are girls who are well-dressed and semi-obnoxious with marshmallow teeth who just fill me with wild and terrible envy every time I see them.
It's a science. But, like most sciences, I don't quite understand it. Maybe Matt or Cache or Emily or Hunter Wilson can explain it to me. Oh, well.
All my love,