It’s often said that you can tell who your real friends are when you’re down. I’ll agree to that, to a certain extent, but there are other truths in there as well. Like, misery loves company, everyone loves a sad story, and other peoples’ struggles make us feel better about our own.

BUT! Haven’t you ever had some measure of happiness, and much to your dismay, you find your friends are jealous haters who can’t actually share your joy?
Haven’t you noticed, on your way up, there’s always someone nay-saying, who wants to rain on your parade, drag you back down to their level, or knock you down a notch? 

Sure you have.

And on top of that, you start to notice that those same people are so seldom satisfied, you wonder how much love, affection, attention, success, money, or ‘whatever’ they need to enjoy life? You decide they’ll never be happy. You question whether they actually aim to be miserable…
Yeah, you know I’m right.
You find you need to be careful and vague about your happiness, so as not to incur The Wrath of the Negative.  

I bought my daughter a tee shirt that reads “Haters Made Me Famous.” She’s smart, funny, sassy, sweet, tall, blonde, leggy, busty, and good at sports. She’s ten. She thinks her life is hard. In about six years, her life will actually be hard…
Ya feel me?

You don’t need Hatin Harriet, Debbie Downer or Negative Nelly when you’ve got Braggadocious Brad.  Yeah, we had this friend, Braggadocious Brad. Braggadocious Brad couldn’t stand any amount of happiness in our lives. He liked to joke with The Mister about how he was a “sidewalk supervisor” and a “paper pusher” because Braggadocious Brad actually had to work for his money! >hahahaha><nudge nudge<
Braggadacious Brad frequently told people that he paid cash for his truck, as well as how much. “Cash Money!” He liked to explain what a bad-ass negotiator of prices he could be. Braggadocious Brad liked to point out to The Mister that he could golf any time he wanted, because he didn’t need a babysitter. He liked to tell us the house we were building was a rip off, because we could’ve built a “better house” cheaper on the south side of town. Braggadocious Brad lived in a trailer park on the east side, and he told everyone when he was ready, he’d build a really nice house on the south side of town, not on the north side like us. Braggadocious Brad thought I should be out earning money like his wife. Eventually, when Braggadocious Brad told The Mister that our miscarriage was for the best, The Mister hadda let him go.

I don’t notice this happening much in my own life, but I constantly observe it going on around me.
Drew and I were talkin about it quite a bit last week. 
As for me, I’ve been accused of being spoiled on more than one occasion. I could name at least a hundred people who are more blessed than I, but instead I wonder, persons who say I’m spoiled, What on earth is so terrible about your own life that makes you think we don’t all deserve to be spoiled? Hell, I spoil myself! Don’t you?

Y’all shoulda seen the enormous yummy salad I made for myself last night. Mmhm. Took a big bubble bath, put on my favorite white pajamas, and slept for ten hours, too! When I woke up this morning, I sure did enjoy that coffee I set up for myself last night.  *nods*
I’m a comfort creature: It doesn’t take much to make me happy.
So when I have much, I’m over the moon.

If you don’t spoil yourself, I kinda assume you’re into stoic hardness, and that maybe you like pain more than pleasure, and that while I might respect you, we probably won’t be friends, because I won’t be able to relate to your plight, which will seem to me to be the unending inability to live well, or to see the beauty in the simplest of things…

Life is unjust.
Sometimes the bad guys win.
Shit happens.
Bad things happen to good people.
Thunder gets stolen.
Life is full of pain and suffering and heartache, fersure, but whoa, life is also short, and I am here to enjoy it as much as I can!  So I will continue to search out people who appreciate the value of the days left, as well as people who can actually be happy for me when I’m over the moon.

We’re all on a different path. Life is not a competition, but it can feel like a competition if you let it.
A true friend should be happy for you, even if you get promoted, pregnant, or published first.

If I can express glee over HME’s pregnancy, when I’d rather eat worms every day for ten months than to carry another baby — If I can delight in Beauty Queen’s new refrigerator that costs more than my car, even though it’s not also a hovercraft — If I can be thrilled for Tracey’s enormous poker win, when I’m jealous because I suck at poker — If I can do all that for my friends, I’d really appreciate it if my so-called friends could at least find it in their hearts to be happy for me when I’ve got good news.

If all else fails, I can always smile at the fact that Braggadocious Brad ended up building his house on the more-expensive north side, after all. *winks*