This week’s FTSF blog hop has asked me
If I had a million pounds, then -
I could take the entire family on an all expenses paid trip to an exotic private island, where we would be waited on day and night by trained Chihuahua dogs in pink coats.
I could buy a large hybrid family SUV with all the mod cons for kids and dogs to travel in, with gold monochrome initials on the sides. A Porsche for the weekends when we are child free, with fluffy white dice hanging in the window.
I could extend the house, put in an extra bedroom or two (not too many, we don’t want to encourage hangers on to stick about after all) and a fully heated indoor swimming pool with a steam room. A secret room accessed through a hidden door covered by a bookcase. Maybe even a gym – just to look at, since I wouldn’t need to actually exercise, thanks to all the liposuction.
I could hire cleaners and gardeners and nannies and all the people it seems are required to do the tasks normally done by just a sole mum.
I could buy fluffy boots lined with sheepskin and hand stitched by Aboriginal tribes in Australia, tight leather trousers sewn with rhinestones and rubies and a genuine horsehide jacket, last worn by an ageing rockstar.
I could have a boob job, where the fat is sucked out of my arse and pumped into the right place. Yup – less butt and more boob and it’s all you, baby!
Yep – if I had a million pounds I could blow the lot super fast – and I’d have a great time doing it too.
But I wouldn’t.
Nope, because these days a million pounds just doesn’t go as far as it used to.