I hate that stuffed unicorn. It's ugly, it's big, it's the one thing you like more than me. I start pestering you about the toy you've had your whole life. I will never admit it, but I'm jealous of a stuffed animal. Ironic. I'm a billionaire who has everything I could want and I am just angry about the toy.

Laying in bed, you're giggling as I whine about the toy again, it's a conversation we have about two times a week. “I mean I don’t see the big deal with this thing.” I say, picking it off your chest and holding it up in the air. "It's ugly." I huff. This is so stupid, but I keep feeling so jealous.