Or so my mother likes to say, in the typical slightly derogatory tone people say it applied to others, casually, from time to time, as a matter of fact. You know my boy, I’m happy for you, but you don’t really deserve what you have, haven’t earned it properly, haven’t suffered enough in life. You’re not justified. Your days are wine and roses —for now; just beware for the wine to sour and the roses to wither.
My brother, he must be hapless, must’ve had a hell of a life, or must’ve paved his way with whatever it takes not to be happy —because I’ve never heard my mother telling him how lucky he is.
Not me, though. Stars bless me.