There's nothing that makes you feel like your life is really, really boring more than your gal-pal announcing that she's moving to London so her husband can work on awesome and trendy films while she totes her too-cute toddler around the city and makes new friends with accents.
(British accents! I just looooove them.)
Of course, I'm thrilled for her. Talk about a once-in-a-lifetime chance. Maybe they'll even be there long enough for the inevitable fabulousness that is sure to be The Royal Wedding!!! OMG, I CAN'T STAND IT. I am officially sick with jealousy and bloated, travel-prohibiting belly.
They couldn't possibly say no and feel happy about continuing to live in the suburbs with a 2-hour commute every day and neighbors who measure the grass in their front lawn and leave nasty notes if it's too high. Bleh. Now they can ride the tube and live somewhere chic and urban and exciting! It's really the most amazing turn of events.
But at a time when I'm feeling a little, um, trapped in my current role as mommy-to-be I can't help but think, "BUT I WANT TO MOVE TO LONDON TOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"
It's something like this: I'm almost too-pregnant to travel, but not quite. We could still take a big trip before the baby comes. Hawaii! Italy! South America! We still have time.
We are constantly talking about a trip we can take that will be affordable in both time and distance. I want to go to Italy but I'm no fool - as I'm getting bigger I would be miserable walking around Italy for a week. (Not to mention the whole "no wine" thing. I'm still upset about that.)
But wow, London. As I look out the kitchen window at my neighbor's home I can't help but think I would like him a whole lot more if he only had a British accent and stopped wearing wife beaters and sweatpants while he did yardwork without shoes on. *Sigh.*
Surely the neighbors in London wear shoes with actual shirts and pants?