"I'd buy you a monkey.
Haven't you always wanted a monkey?"
Recently I've been reading a book about a woman who inherits fifty million dollars. I haven't finished it yet, but so far she's decided not to quit her two jobs or move out of her crappy apartment. That's not what I would do.
If I ever inherited fifty million dollars (which is unlikely, because if you added together all the assets of all of my relatives, we wouldn't come anywhere near fifty million) the first thing I'd do is quit my job. It's not a bad job, but do you know any one who wakes up in the morning, yearning to push paperwork? Yeah, didn't think so. I'd buy myself a house on a beach somewhere. Then I'd go on a long vacation at Disney World. And I'd stay in the special suite in Cinderella's castle.
What else would I do? I'd hire a personal trainer to come work out with me four or five days a week. And I'd hire someone to come clean my beach house. So that takes care of the unpleasant stuff.
I'd pick a room and fill it with all the yarn it could hold. And I'd spend my days knitting whatever I wanted. I'd keep a massage therapist on retainer to help treat the inevitable carpal tunnel syndrome. I already have a great massage therapist, so that part would be easy.
Until I win the lottery or some rich relative I've never met drops dead and leaves me all their money, I guess I'll just have to keep on keeping on. Knitting in the evenings and on the weekends. Cleaning my own place. (Or not, to be honest.) Getting up in the morning and dragging my sorry butt to work, whether I feel like it or not. I plan to sign up for a weekly pilates class tomorrow. That should help at least.
And don't worry. If I had a million dollars, I wouldn't really buy you a monkey.