I’m so tired of being rich. People don’t realise how tedious money can become. I’ll give an example to illustrate what I mean.
Every day the cook would ask if there was anything special I would like for the evening meal. After a while – rather quickly actually – I ran out of ideas. I suggested to the cook that he make up his own mind, as long as he maintained his usual quality. That’s what he’s paid for. Well! You’ve no idea what happened! He served up a wild venison dish. I don’t like wild game particularly, and this meat was far too strong. It might’ve looked fancy, but … yuk! After that, I had to replace the cook with one who toned down the flavours a bit, thank heavens.
Then when my birthday came I said I was tired of all this fancy food and wanted something plain. Perhaps a rissole in a bun – something simple like that. What sort of salad would I like in the bun? A bit of red onion? No, no, no! Cheese? No, no, no! Just a rissole in a bun. Like poor people have every day.
So that’s what I got. It was disgusting. Never again. And it was a top-of-the-range bun. I now understand what poor people have to put up with all the time. I have instructed the cook: once a month, when he’s foraging for groceries, he’s to buy a spare tin of cat food and leave it in the Salvation Army bin at the supermarket. If the poor people don’t have a cat, I’m sure it would be a treat for them to eat it themselves.
Life is certainly more satisfying now that I’m doing my bit.
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