To be envious or not to be... is it even a question?

I am not too proud to admit it. Some days I am filled with envy. I envy the young girls with their care free attitudes and abundance of time. Their cellulite-free bodies and lack of pregnancy battle wounds. Wearing the latest fashions which usually end up being on the brink of too short or too tight, they throw their bouncy hair up into an adorable knot and toss a pair of oversized sunglasses on (as a statement, NOT to prevent wrinkles) and they look like movie stars. Our husbands can't help themselves but steal glances their way when they think we aren't looking. They are men, I've come to terms with this fact and have actually graduated into a stage of humor about it all. Particularly when my own hubs thinks one is checking him out and then they end up calling him "sir" as they excuse themselves to step around us when they walk by. A little sign of defeat flashes across his face and I actually feel bad for him. Well, for a second anyway. I know the feeling. The confusion of human nature. Wanting to feel attractive, even just for the self satisfaction of knowing you still got "it". Eventually, if I'm given the opportunity to sit and observe this particular type of girl (or even more entertaining, a group of girls) for a bit, my envy usually dwindles down to nothing more than a laugh and shake of my head. With time I see a little deeper into this life and image that I found so appealing just a minute or two ago. I soon see the insecurity, the desire to fit in, to be cool. This girl who seems to have it all is clearly dressed this way to attract attention, to be who she thinks everyone wants her to be. The envy is fleeting. It is my brain's first gut reaction. I remember this stage. Even into my very early twenties I distinctly remember. The days when fashion, staying trim and social status all seemed to dictate your life. Don't get me wrong, I was never the girl with the pricey clothes and flippant moods, flirting with every male I came across. That's not where I'm going with this. I'm just saying that on the days that I throw on something baggy and comfortable, toss my own wet mop up into a knot (which never seems to have the same appeal as that of an 18 year old's) and put my big sunglasses on to keep the crow's feet at bay, I realize that I've hit a new era of my life. I've traded all that for something much more wonderful and rewarding. I can be my true self, no pretending or false pretenses. I know who I am. I am a Mother. I am a Wife. I am a vital member of a beautiful family. Sure, my husband might look at this girl for a second and think of his younger days. Hell, I'm looking at her and am having almost the same nostalgic moment. But then he looks away and back to me in a different way, a respectful and loving look resting in his face. My kids seem to have that same look too (when I'm not asking them to clean their rooms, of course) and I am content. More than content, I feel like those girls should be envious of me.