It is with great pride and pleasure I introduce you to either baby girl Howe, or baby boy Howe - we don't know which one yet:
...nothing compares. Go on! TRY to make me jealous of your Hummer/castle in Spain/baubles/seven figure income/vacation plans/Nubian goats/Arabian steeds/fill-in-the-blank. You'll see a flicker of interest, if you are an interesting person. But after too much of it...I yawn, and then I yawn. Then I yawn again. I mean, if it blows your skirt up, I get that. I will always track with you, up to a certain point.
I mean, I find a measure of whoopity-do in things that money can buy, too. I can enjoy your hobby with you, and my interests vary far and wide. And I love it when you share with me. But I can't bring myself to admire you for it...I'm impressed by the likes of Amy Carmichael and missionaries to Cambodia. I'm a Jesus Freak, what can I say?
Just sayin'. I like stuff, too...but you won't find me dedicating a whole blog to My Fabulous Estate, nor will you find me going out of my way to, through any means possible, oh-so-obviously make sure you hear about my latest purchases - even when I pay cash on the barrel for every bit of it! (...as opposed to leveraging assets for the tax break that gives me...)
I find it to be bad manners to flaunt stuff, be it animal, vegetable, or mineral. You can safely flaunt your man and you can always flaunt your grandbaby. That's really about all you can happily flaunt, and still be in good taste. Other than that, no one really cares or wants to hear about it, unless she's your Bestest Friend Forever. Certainly not if they haven't spoken to you in years. I can't tell you how often it happens, when someone (who imagines that I will be slightly impressed) will stretch to find any means possible to insure that I know what is their latest "thing"...their newest, non-human acquisition in which they find joy.
All the power-planning in the world can't insure you snuggle up tonight with a man you are crazy about. My hobbies don't give good backrubs and they sure as heck won't slow dance with me. Money can't buy you one single healthy relationship.
I can't take my Nikon out for breakfast at Mimi's Cafe and talk about its day. I've tried. My poodle is a decent snuggler, but he can't call and check in on me. My diamond ring never sends me one email telling me how much I've blessed it. But my girlfriends do, and I do the same for them.
And I can't take out a loan to finance a single kiss from a grandbaby. Those are priceless.
I know. I'm so old-school. I sound like a granny.