Polly Gillespie: Why your holiday was better than mine

It was not normal, and still isn’t, for my family to take off on overseas jaunts. Photo / Supplied

Who really has a life this sexy and exotic? These are not real people. These people can't possibly be this happy. This is not real. Oh God, this is real. And I know these people.

I'm not an envious person. I have plenty of flaws and a long list of vices: I'm lustful, slothful, glutinous, sleepy and dopey. I'm Prancer, Vixen and Doc. But I'm not big on envy. Jealousy, yes. I get jealous when my partner subconsciously (let's pretend it's subconscious, eh? That makes it easier) looks at a hot woman with a bouncy booty. Yes, I get jealous, but I'm not usually envious. I don't want to be that woman and I don't want her delicious booty.

However, there is a time each year where the wee rancid lump of envy cheese floats to the surface of my personality vat. It's now, when it's "vacation time on Facebook".

As a child we went to Orewa, Piha, and Hahei to visit my kooky Uncle Brian who owned to general store. I had never been overseas until I moved to the States for uni. I only knew one kid at school who'd been overseas. Susan Peperill went to Aussie. She brought me back felt pens and a koala that attached to my pencil. It was the coolest thing ever.

It was not normal, and still isn't, for my family to take off on overseas jaunts. When our kids were young Grant and I took them to Disneyland. Dumb rookie move. Kids aged five and seven just want to go wherever there is a swimming pool. We could have taken them to Solway Park in Masterton and they would have loved it.

Note to parents with young children: save your money and don't take them to Disneyland or anywhere else off this rock until they are at least ten. All you need is a swimming pool. Trust me on this. This is the best advice you'll ever get from anyone. Full stop. No argument. Bible truth.

This time of year though is when other folk - folk I didn't grow up with - travel overseas to places i truly believe I'll never get to. These people, some of them actual friends, go to Madrid and Hawaii and Canada to ski.

Who goes to Madrid for New Years? Who even thinks to go to Madrid for New years except people in Spain who think it would be cool to go to the "big smoke"? Who goes skiing in Canada? I mean, who can even ski? Who can afford to take their entire family skiing in New Zealand, let alone Canada? Why is the woman from accounts with some hot dude in Paris? Who is that guy? Where did she meet him? And who knew she had anything happening on Facebook other than cat videos? Why is that woman who does my nails with twelve of the best looking couples God created on a sailing ship in Hobart?

It's the beach ones that really get me though. There are those Facebook mates who have the sense to know that this summer is going to be the worst in recorded history. They somehow read the Farmers' Almanac, and worked to the knowledge that there would be more wind and rain than Seattle in a hurricane every third day.

So what did they do? They planned their Christmas vacay on some awesome private island in Thailand. They had hot coconut massages performed by Buddhist monks. They ate divine food while being caressed by the most beautiful women riding dolphins.

I hate these people. I don't normally hate these perfectly nice people. Normally I quite like them or, at the very least, completely ignore them. But come January I take some kind of perverse pleasure in scouring Facebook to see how many people I know that have much better lives than me, and are having far better holidays with far better looking people.

This summer vacation has been extra excruciating for me. On the eve of this vacay I found out my job was changing a bit, and there was all manner of crazy press surrounding it.

Then there were days and days of contemplation about life, money, career paths, life paths and self-examination. So while I've been fretting about change I've also been stalking friends, and people I vaguely know, as they frolic with other cool people I definitely don't know on boats in bays that I didn't know existed.

So, once I'm back at work, I'm going to plot and plan the best summer holiday ever for next year. I'm going to plan a trip that includes boats, dolphins, massages, parties, hot people, unicorns, Rihanna, Liza Minnelli, flamingos, ski fields, caskets of treasure, Kardashians, Ryan Gosling, waterfalls, bull fights, and marvellous cocktails with straws made of gold. I'll take photos wearing a bikini made of pineapples and money, and I'll catch a large fish whilst water skiing perfectly for the first time.

Stand by. I'll make the photos public. And I expect ludicrous amounts of envy.