Don't get me wrong--I know I've got nothing to complain about. At least for now, I've got a family, a roof over my head, and my health. But the fact of the matter is that I am objectively failing at life because I am neither named Kylie nor hand-raising a baby koala bear for a living.
The internet lost its whole entire shit upon discovering that baby koala raising is a career path that exists, when Buzzfeed published a story about two Australian wildlife park managers, Kylie Elliott and Matt Radnidge, who together are hand-rearing an orphaned baby koala named Imogen. (Actually, technically Imogen wasn't orphaned, but her mom's pouch was needed for a younger actual orphan named Harry, so Imogen got evicted early).
Anyhoo, back to me, the perpetual topic at hand.
Here's exactly what does NOT happen in my house. Specifically, there is not a sexy wildlife park manager named Matt whose last name literally includes the word "Rad" replying to emails on his MacBook Air in my clean, well-appointed, hard wood-floored living room with a baby koala bear looking over his shoulder against the backdrop of a burgundy accent wall. If I'm lucky, I might squeeze in a blog post or a work email on a refurbished laptop while two kids scream "momomomomomomomomomommom" nonstop into my ear, against the backdrop of How to Train Your Dragon on Netflix and a wall plastered with My Little Pony stickers and coffee splatter.
Also, all of my Tupperware contains rancid salmon, stir fry, or rice. None of it--not one!--contains a BABY KOALA HUGGING A FUCKING STUFFED KOALA on a spotlessly clean kitchen table:
Furthermore, my measuring cups are all covered with a thin layer of grime and have been used, by turns, for pancake batter and my kids' "science experiments." Once again, not a single one has ever contained A FUCKING BABY KOALA BEAR:
There's no doubt about it: These two might be awake at night hand-rearing a nocturnal baby koala, but they are most definitely NOT awake at night watching Forensic Files and the ads that go with it. Ads for stuff like overactive bladder medication, blood thinners, a constipation drug specifically designed to counteract the sluggish bowel side-effects of opioid painkillers, and an ad for "Inventhelp" with George Foreman as the spokesman, encouraging you to send your "invention" to a patent agent who was probably fired from the U.S. Patent Office for a sex offense, and is now confined to his mother's basement in Kenosha, Wisconsin.
The only thing that makes me feel a little bit better about my life's obvious wrong turn is that these two clearly don't have human babies yet. If and when they do, I'd like to see their after picture. Imogen the koala might be cute and keep Matt and Kylie up at night with her nocturnal habits and sharp claws, but it can't be that hard, because look, they're still all sunshine and smiles.
Come back to me with a pic of this couple after three months hand-rearing a human infant. That'll wipe those fucking smiles off their faces, guaranteed.