If I had $365 Million Dollars...I'd be Crazy.
"Remind me to stop and get a lottery ticket on the way home," my husband said last night, pointing out that the pot was worth about $365 million.
Luckily, I didn't remember. Not that we would have won, but I don't want to take any chances. You know in Fiddler on the Roof, where the father, sings "If I Were a Rich Man?" And his dream of studying scripture and his wife taking it easy is sweet? In contrast, my version of being filthy rich would be, well, filthy. I'd make Rodney Dangerfield in Caddyshack look tasteful.
I'd have my nails encrusted in pink diamonds. Build a waterfall that cascaded from our roof. At art auctions, I'd outbid everyone--including myself--just for the hell of it. I wouldn't move out of our neighborhood in Waldo, but would create a gated community right in our front yard and hire a team of singing, dancing gardeners to whip things into shape. I'd get silver teeth caps for our whole family. My children would have a 24-hour servant and her name wouldn't be "Moooooom!!!!" We'd eat lobster omelets for breakfast and caviar and cream cheese sandwiches for lunch. I'd still drink Hamm's--the beer currently in our refridgerator--but I'd special order it in solid gold cans. Artists and musicians would create their work on our "estate" while my family dozed under flowering trees with a family of chimpanzees we acquired while on Safari. They'd wear little gingham suits or sundresses and bonnets. Of course, I'd give to charity, but not anonymously. "No problem," I'd say, signing a check for $11 million to Children's Mercy Hospital, "and I think you'll enjoy your new name, Bridget's Mercy Hospital." I'd smile, blinding them with my disco ball mouth.
Why such a ridiculous showing of our wealth? Because $365 million drives people crazy, and for me, that's a short trip. Luckily, God knows this and throws mishaps our way every time we come into a little money. Tax break on the way? Surprise, the car needs new tires. Deadbeat customer pays Justin? There goes the hot water heater.
Now $1 million. That would be nice.
Yesterday, I was singing that song, "If I had a million dollars." My son Johnny said if I yelled my wish loudly enough, it would come true.
"I wish I had a million dollars," I yelled.
"Check your pockets," he said, sounding very convincing.
"What's this?" I said, eyes wide. It was an old kleenex, and Johnny laughed.
I tried a few more times, with the same result.
Finally, I yelled, "I wish I had a dried out old kleenex."
And guess what? My wish came true. Johnny fell on the floor laughing, and that was worth a million dollars.
Luckily, I didn't remember. Not that we would have won, but I don't want to take any chances. You know in Fiddler on the Roof, where the father, sings "If I Were a Rich Man?" And his dream of studying scripture and his wife taking it easy is sweet? In contrast, my version of being filthy rich would be, well, filthy. I'd make Rodney Dangerfield in Caddyshack look tasteful.
I'd have my nails encrusted in pink diamonds. Build a waterfall that cascaded from our roof. At art auctions, I'd outbid everyone--including myself--just for the hell of it. I wouldn't move out of our neighborhood in Waldo, but would create a gated community right in our front yard and hire a team of singing, dancing gardeners to whip things into shape. I'd get silver teeth caps for our whole family. My children would have a 24-hour servant and her name wouldn't be "Moooooom!!!!" We'd eat lobster omelets for breakfast and caviar and cream cheese sandwiches for lunch. I'd still drink Hamm's--the beer currently in our refridgerator--but I'd special order it in solid gold cans. Artists and musicians would create their work on our "estate" while my family dozed under flowering trees with a family of chimpanzees we acquired while on Safari. They'd wear little gingham suits or sundresses and bonnets. Of course, I'd give to charity, but not anonymously. "No problem," I'd say, signing a check for $11 million to Children's Mercy Hospital, "and I think you'll enjoy your new name, Bridget's Mercy Hospital." I'd smile, blinding them with my disco ball mouth.
Why such a ridiculous showing of our wealth? Because $365 million drives people crazy, and for me, that's a short trip. Luckily, God knows this and throws mishaps our way every time we come into a little money. Tax break on the way? Surprise, the car needs new tires. Deadbeat customer pays Justin? There goes the hot water heater.
Now $1 million. That would be nice.
Yesterday, I was singing that song, "If I had a million dollars." My son Johnny said if I yelled my wish loudly enough, it would come true.
"I wish I had a million dollars," I yelled.
"Check your pockets," he said, sounding very convincing.
"What's this?" I said, eyes wide. It was an old kleenex, and Johnny laughed.
I tried a few more times, with the same result.
Finally, I yelled, "I wish I had a dried out old kleenex."
And guess what? My wish came true. Johnny fell on the floor laughing, and that was worth a million dollars.
posted by Midwest Mama at 5:26 AM
2 Comments:
Snaggle tooth has to be a psychologist! It is a lot of money, but I know the real you and you'd handle it perfectly! Could I borrow a mil until payday?
Bridget,
They make these gold-plated Hamm's cans. Their called Hamm's Gold, and your husband brought me a 12-pack of it last month. It tastes like a million bucks in your mouth...once it hits your lips.- Josh
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