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By Pamela Miller
A Fond Howdy from the Southwest:
I hope everyone is doing well. After all, you probably are. I never heard from any of you when I was living on off-brand canned pasta, following by several months of extreme dieting, caused in no small part from my all-carbohydrate lifestyle. Bessie Smith was right; nobody knows you when you’re down to your last can of spaghetti hoops.
At least now I have some good news to share. I’m rich. And not just in the comfortable way, but in the filthy to disgusting way. Let’s just say I found some money, washed off the incriminating evidence, and bought my next donut with a $100 bill. And the money keeps coming in. Since I know none of you have any connections to the world of illegal/illicit finance, I trust you all to keep this a secret. I have no plans to buy you off. (That would really shine a light on your low character. Shame on you.) I’ll milk this golden goose for as long as I can, then make a hasty move somewhere with better plumbing.
It’s always been my wish to live a life without work, responsibilities, guilt, pain, grease, or unpleasant music. In school, I learned I despised being told what to do. In my younger years, I was told I needed to make a contribution. I did work, but ended up being asked to leave because they didn’t want to tailor the positions to my requests. (No one liked my idea about the daily nap, which was less a request than a necessity. I can’t function on less than 12 hours a day.) Now, as an adult, I know I never have to do anything I don’t want to ever again. Are you getting this? I can park anywhere I want. A parking ticket is just the fee for the privilege of leaving my car on your lawn.
There are a few things I want to do, but only to say I’ve done them. Like, I want to go to IKEA. Instead of driving down the street, I’m going to fly to Sweden, make my purchases, and then have everything shipped back to Arizona. Always wanted to go into a high-end art glass gallery and knock something over. The really ritzy places never have “you break it, you buy it” signs. Maybe they let the insurance company handle it.
My list isn’t just filled with unnecessary extravagances and gleeful destruction of property. No, I also have my eye on romance. Since money can’t buy love, I’m only shooting for convenience. I recall reading about British royalty without money marrying American heiresses for their dowry. He got the cash and comfort; she got the title. I really want a title. The 85th Marquess of Burbage on Wiggle Farm might be looking for a little companionship and a few more sheep. Let’s just say, I’m ready to settle down, just so long as I’ll be known as Lady or Duchess. (Maybe not Duchess. I had a fox terrier with that name when I was little.) The only deal breaker is Master in Lunacy. Or anything that would make me Mistress of the Dungeon.
Of course, there’s always time for a little primping. I’ve been working with a skilled facial reconstructionist/aesthetician. In just ten more painful visits, I will be completely unrecognizable. There are hair weaves from around the world, eyebrows so arched I always look a bit shocked, and permanently rosy cheeks, just in time for a visit from St. Nick. (This was toned down from my original request: Raggedy Ann after a visit to St. Barts.)
I know you’re wondering if we’ll run into each other at the lumberyard or sweat lodge. Well, the truthful answer is probably not. It’s not that I’m moving on, but rather moving away from anyone who knew me before this remarkable turn of events. I know you’ll understand. This will save us years of fighting over the check in fine restaurants or taco stands. Also, I’m kind of hoping to mix with a better class of people.
The best part of my little fortune is I that never have to pay my family back for all their years of support. Every check came with a reminder that I wasn’t living up to their expectations. Let me tell you, this is going to be the best holiday season ever. Still haven’t decided if I’m going to stage a disappearance or arrange a final video chat. It goes without saying that they’ll all be out of the will once I get around to writing one. Oh, the many problems of people with money!
In this season of giving, I plan to give you all my best wishes.
Copyright © 2010 by Pamela Miller
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