Learning something new every day is a delight to the mind. I have recently discovered that petrichor is the smell after a rain. The scientific word for locking lips is called osculation. There’s no Betty Rubble in Flintstone vitamins. And there is actually a magazine called SNOB. Russian magnate Mikhail Prokhorov, owner of a big chunk of New York real estate and major basketball team, published this persona of wealth. I guess he thought the world needed one more thing that adhered to the philosophy “if you’ve got it, flaunt it.” He was once arrested on suspicion of arranging prostitutes for French Christmas party guests by paying all expenses to have floozies flown to France. If this inclination to see the super rich exhibit their opulence while the majority live in dilapidated dwellings is geared to entice us, there’s nothing like subscribing to insanity.
I don’t suffer from the sort of elite envy that some would have, wanting to own the Superleggera Gallardo Lamborghini amped with mega carbon fiber. For most of us who cannot afford such luxury, we can view one at the Paris Motor Show. But who can fly to France on a whim? I can. Right after I knock off a Brinks truck. And forget that Rolex. I’d go for wrist wear worn by Andy Garcia if he was still ambassador of Baume & Mercier. If I’m going to watch time slip by me, I would certainly buy the strapping device displayed by the strapping man if the credit department would just wait for me to break the ice with Saudi investor Prince Alwaleed Bin Talal Alsaud. I’d ask him about borrowing a few bucks. A loan is just a fancy term for never paying it back. Then again he may say, “Sorry, all I have is thousand dollar bills!” Then I might say, “Chump change I’m sure, but that’ll do.” Then he may say that he’ll savagely stalk me if I don’t repay him.
I wasn’t born a billion dollar baby. But I’ve lived with some of the finer things in life like Grey Poupon and Lassie reruns. I can afford the Lassie reruns. Sometimes I think my life is tough. Yet someone else got up this morning and went to sit in a microbial lab to dissect chicken poop, or is cleaning out sewers in Harlem. According to a professor at Harvard, money really can buy happiness, but we’re probably spending it wrong when the interplay of cash and joy is subject to diminishing returns. So I guess everything I buy at T.J.Maxx needs to be taken back. And quite frankly, that will just make me mess up my mascara. It’s bad enough I already cry when I’m out of Kahlua. Stores have a lot of expectations. They expect me to spend as if I was Iris fricking Fontbona, that Chilean businesswoman whose net worth is seventeen billion.
Poorness is a particular pill that some are forced to swallow. I have yet to sleep in my car. And I’ve grown very fond of having electricity. But sometimes I go to the refrigerator to make myself a mayonnaise sandwich, minus the mayonnaise, and minus the bread. And I’m almost always out of Ramen noodles. We all venture down life’s roads leading to rags or riches. I don’t want to be that girl on a bridge overlooking turbulent water, contemplating something drastic if they shut off the cable and I can’t watch Here Comes Honey Boo Boo. I’d have to see exactly where I’ll stand in the sea of practicality, and practically filing for bankruptcy if I absolutely, positively cannot be without a Dior blazer. Yet I’m not into enjoying lavishness if it includes extracurricular activities as scandals, or such accoutrements as injected lips and chest. I’m also not into collecting ascots.
There are people who use credit cards as a method to their fadness by never letting their cards cool off and live in preposterously large penthouses in Manhattan. And there are people with fixed incomes. There are people who cut up palms from Palm Sunday and light them to make ashes only to bury them in a sacred ritual while praying for the poor, and those who put up every retention wall to spirituality praying that they win the Lotto so they can live like a king. There are people who file for the federal tax return amount and hold onto it snugly. Then there are those who spend carelessly, or are susceptible to phone scam baiters. “For security precautions, please state your address, social security number along with your siblings social security numbers, your vehicle identification and where you keep your keys. We have recently learned that you didn’t show up for jury duty on the tenth of October two thousand and three, so you owe us the fine of $5,000.00. We also heard that the air in homes can pollute the lungs so we suggest you keep all your windows and doors open at night.”
Some people just know how to make money. If loving what I do have is wrong, I don’t want to be right in the middle of my midnight peeing ritual when an intruder walks by to steal my bedroom set.
I can’t shop nearly as much as I’d like to. But if I ever start having chest pains, I would like to make a quick stop at Nordstrom’s on the way to the hospital in case I don’t come out alive. And if I don’t make it out alive, somebody make sure my girls get that cash promised to me by that respectable woman in a suit who showed up at my door saying I could be a winner of a grand sum of money if I’d buy ten magazines. Except I was upset when the list didn’t include SNOB. I wanted to see what property would cost on another planet because I need more privacy against piracy.