I want to buy the world

The problem with money is that it sits there mocking you with what you can’t have and can’t do.

The problem with credit cards is that they let you buy and do all those things because oh, you’ll just pay later.

I want a candlelit dinner at the French Laundry.

I want to stay at the Hotel Del Coronado in San Diego.

I want to fly east for a month this summer, see family and spend money hand over fist.

I want to visit Hawaii, Greece, Japan, Denmark, Morocco, Kenya, Brazil. At least. And go back to everywhere I've been except maybe Detroit.

I want central air.

I want to pay someone else to tile our kitchen floor.

I want to buy fancy tiles, too.

I want new shoes. Lots of new shoes. Snazzy and not so snazzy. Walking shoes, mostly. Also pretty ones.

I want new jeans. I want them in every color The Gap has. I want to toss them out and buy new ones when I lose more weight (if I ever get past this semi-plateau).

I want a digital Rebel camera; I’m saving my pennies for that anyway but I want it now, if not sooner.

I want to buy books in hardcover, not wait till paperback or take them out of the library, which ends up often costing more money anyway because of the dratted fines.

I want to try Kobe beef. And Beluga caviar. And black truffles, the kind the pigs dig out. By the plateful.

I want a Jacuzzi on our back deck. Of our new house. On a tree lined street. Which I want to buy too.

I want to pay a babysitter twelve bucks an hour and not flinch, then go out and dance till dawn or at least enjoy dinner and a movie. Both in the same night, to boot.

I want to try a weekend at an upscale spa, mud baths and herbal masks and beautiful scenery and massages and incredible meals.

I want a horse. Well, maybe not. But maybe, what the hell.

And a helicopter, for that matter.

And a tree. Tall and strong and leafy, to lean against on a hot summer day and read a book. And build a tree house in its branches. And put a swing hanging down from the thickest branch. A kind that turns deep red-gold in the fall.

Also a chauffer.

And a hybrid Lexus. Hey, they’re coming out next year, right?

And a cook. Or at least lots of free time to cook my own gourmet meals.

Maybe I’ll just pay for a ride on a helicopter, come to think of it. Just one ride. That wouldn’t rack up too much visa debt.

Did I mention I want a new house? On an acre of land but easily accessible to everything. And beautiful, with lots of character, either old but in perfect condition or new and wonderfully interesting, not a McMansion.

Can I buy some close friends that live nearby? Or should I just buy my close friends houses nearby so they can move here?

I want to buy a new president, one who makes sense and has a heart that beats with real blood that he hasn’t already sold to big corporations. How much would that cost, do you think?

I want to buy floor time therapy for every child compromised by autism. Ten hours a week with a skilled therapist.

I want to buy freedom for the overworked and overwhelmed. I want to buy fair wages for all.

I want to buy clean water, air, and land. More frogs, their thin permeable skins unpolluted and healthy.

Okay, back to me. I want to buy velvet and silk and gold and Maryland blue crab and fresh raspberries and pear jam to eat while wrapped in my silks and bread pudding flown in from New Orleans to eat after and a huge bubbly clawfoot bathtub and a deep but firm king sized bed and 1020 thread count sheets and sheer curtains that blow in the gentle breeze which I’ll buy too. And sunshine and good times and laughter. I want to buy lots of laughter.

I think I need to cut up my credit cards. I can barter for the laughter and save up for the rest.

Posted by Tamar at March 5, 2004 05:23 PM