Dingos and Wombats

The recession has led to a rash of changes at my company- mainly the loss of several co-workers due to layoffs, other job offers and, most recently, random worldly excursions. Yesterday one of my peers, Lisa J., announced in her signature "California valley girl by way of Astoria" accent that she'd be leaving to, "like go traveling and stuff in New Zealand and Australia." In the midst of this economic turmoil, she's going to abandon her country to become an expat in the land of wombats and dingos?

Honestly, my concern is less about national patriotism and more about personal allegiance. She's not leaving until May, which means for the next six weeks I'll have to bear witness to everybody patting her on the back, applauding her BOLD decision and swearing they'd up and join her if only they didn't have that pesky kid or cowardice holding them back. Meanwhile, I'm fuming because I don't have the luxury, freedom or sheer impetuousness to just up and bounce to some foreign land for a year. And don't think the idea hasn't crossed my mind every time I've gone on vacation. I was so close to buying an abandoned shack in Boca Chica and turning it into a Bed and Breakfast and Brothel. But I couldn't because I had to get back to my real life with my job (that I despise) and responsibilities (that i despise). Frankly, trying to achieve happiness is impractical and ridiculously idealistic. Damn to the "Lisa J's" of the world who feel entitled enough to actually pursue it. May a dingo eat her baby (if/when she has one by Crocodile Dundee).