Apart from a few days when I was nine years old, I can't remember ever wishing I was someone else.
Quite a few decades later, and I'm still happy with the cards I've been dealt.
It's been a pretty lucky hand, and I've worked out when to hold 'em, when to fold 'em, when to sashay away, and when to run like a rat up a drainpipe.
However, this past week, I was struck on two occasions by the envy stick.
Possibly showing the shallowness of my envy (which, by definition, is already a fairly shallow emotion), both occasions involved TV series.
The first strike happened while I was walking with a friend within the bounds of our official LGA.
Besides being shocked by how hard I found it to chatter like a budgie while setting a furiously moderate pace, my mate revealed that she was watching the whole 10 series of Friends . . . for the first time.
"What? You've never seen an episode?," I gasped.
My amazement turned to envy when I thought of all the fun that was ahead for her (and her daughter, who also hasn't seen it).
Friends is TV magic, created by a rare combination of the cast's spectacular on-screen chemistry and consistently snappy scripts.
I hope mum and daughter love it as much as me (and a gazillion others).
For the record, I've never seen an episode of Game of Thrones, and never plan to.
The second bolt of envy came via text message.
"Hey, have you watched After Life on Netflix? I'm on the second series. Ricky Gervais is brilliant. Love it," came the rave review from my brother.
After Life is possibly my favourite series ever. It's a unique delight.
I've watched the first two instalments at least twice, and have laughed and ugly-cried every damn time.
My brother, who is not easily impressed, was clearly hooked.
Again, I wished I was in his shoes, experiencing it all for the first time.
Gervais is finishing series three, which he says will be the last.
He reckons also that After Life 3 is the best thing he's written.
OK, I'll turn down the envy dial, as I have that to look forward to.
Hopefully I won't be struck by any more pangs of envy for a while.
It's exhausting, and takes me back to 1977 when I desperately wanted to be Frida from ABBA. She was a brunette queen and wore fab clothes.
These days though, I feel only trepidation when I think of ABBA.
I'm not sure about their reunion.
New photos show the fab four in their avatar leotards, I think. Are they ABBAtars?
Whatever, it appears the airbrushed supergroup are being dressed by Elon Musk.
I definitely don't want to be in their shoes, which look like ugly virtual joggers.
I bet you couldn't dance in them, or jive, or indeed have the time of your life.
Could there BE a more unenviable situation?
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