Jamie and I got along as well as we did with the others, but every now and then her jealousy would rare its nasty head. It would be frustrating at times, but I also understood how she felt once I mentally placed myself in her shoes. It wasn’t that she was dumb; she just wasn’t as quick to catch on and she couldn’t easily grasp as many things as I could. But sometimes the ease in which I learned other languages, as well as other things, would get to her and she would feel inadequate and stupid when she would compare herself to me.
Sometimes I wanted to shake her and other times I couldn’t help but throw my arms around her and remind her that it was pointless and silly to compare each other and that she was who she was and that was okay. Jamie just wouldn’t be Jamie if she were anyone else but herself.
For the longest time, I swore I would never get into cooking. It was so much easier to get pre-cooked stuff and just toss it in the microwave. Furthermore, I simply had no interest in cooking. Yet when I had the free time to observe and even offer my help when Jamie would be preparing our meals, I couldn’t help but learn some things, thus developing an interest of my own. My cooking, which I think most people would agree with, ended up being better than hers. I learned much more at a quicker pace than the fewer things she learned over a long period of time. And like I said, she was great, but I was better. My dishes weren’t just simple but intricate as well.
Fortunately, she didn’t fly into a jealous rage over it. She appreciated how much I’d learned and how yummy my meals were. So instead of her doing all the cooking and me doing all the cleaning, we agreed to switch off every other week.
“There’s just one problem,” I fondly told her one day. “My cooking may be better than yours, but your housekeeping is definitely worse than mine.”
It was true!