Last week’s episodes of frozen pipes and fingers that never got really warm have me thinking of a trip to San Juan or the Bahamas or anywhere where there’s a beach and the temperature is 80 degrees or above. (Pool boys optional but desired.)
God, why didn’t you make me rich? I would not have been rotten about it. I would have shared like a good girl. I simply think that someone, like myself, who always mostly played by the rules her whole life deserves a little sumpum-sumpum, ya know what I mean?
I’d like a few days spent to own a cabin on a secluded beach, a kick-ass stereo system, stacks of great books on built-in bookshelves lining a woodburning fireplace, a fridge filled with triple creme brie and caviar (I prefer osetra over beluga, thank you very much), and a cellar filled with incredible wines. I want a native villager to bring me fresh fruits, crisp green veggies and the occasional just-killed free-range chicken ready for the grill weekly. I want no telephones except a direct line to my children and D’Bear (who will be able to stop working and come live with me on the beach…part time).
And all the shoes my heart desires…….
That’s not much to ask, is it?
If not that, God, could you simply make my oil bill read “payment due $1.25” ???