Random chats with friends often spin into the best convos.
Case in point: my last trip home to London, soaking up some back home goodness and catching up with friends and fam, an interesting topic came up out of nowhere, it seemed. One of the crew brought his new-to-me boo, over my Bestie’s place. Me and my US fam usually split our time home between my sister’s and my Bestie’s pads. The day either of them start charging Airbnb rates, I’ll personally cry buckets in court and sue for emotional distress and abuse.
Roll that ‘Help me, I’m poor’ scene from Bridesmaids… now picture me, every single time I travel home and drop my knapsack on their stoop.
Anyhoo, our other friend’s boo — who’s a total belter, by the way — she, me and my Bestie were laughing and enjoying talking about anything and nothing, and somehow, we ended up talking about what we’d do if we hit the lottery. We weren’t watching one of those shows or anything, you know the ones where they win 300 million, go on those public shows to let everyone and their mother know of their recent fortune, and then proceed to buy all manner of foolishness. I’m talking the ‘you never owned a vehicle newer than 10 years old’ type and it’s not like you’ll buy a more recent car… no, you suddenly can’t go on with life without 17 Lamborghinis and 15 Aston Martins.
I’m still trying to recall how this entire conversation even came up.
And do those lottery-winners stop at their recent luxury car collection? No. Next up, it’s them moving past wild dreams and into acquiring yachts longer than a football field and a delulu need to check off 27 exotic rattlesnakes from your lottery grocery list.
So, posing the question to the three of us… what splurge, and it had to be a splurge, would we dive into if we were to be so lucky?
And between the three of us, our splurge offerings were hella tragic. Nothing even close to the imagination of Mr. and Mrs. 27 exotic snakes.
We all agreed and quickly jumped in with a personal chef. One who’d calculate and come up with perfect meals that were nutritionally balanced, macro-masters, but above all delicious tasting, and we’d not have to concern ourselves with any prep nor clean up. A personal trainer who’d come over to our homes, equipped with uber high-end, enviable fitness setups. A fabulous stylist, some holiday homes for enjoyment and profit, and sure, an always-dreamed-of car, etc. But again, both pretty tame and lame next to “let’s buy a zoo!”
All three of us struggled, and my friend’s boo was right – these weren’t the wild and crazy, over the top, ‘how did you come up with that?’ proposals. We needed to expand our imaginations big time!
The one grand share I had was that I would 100% be retiring all my key friends and fam. Here’s where my brain goes: if I win, I’m taking care of my people. But I’m not dropping lump sums. Because why do I have millions upon millions yet my peeps are still hunkering down at their day jobs? There’s me, dangling my pedicured toes off a 500-ft yacht, rich yes, but all sad and lonely. And I jest about the 500-ft yacht. Not my thing at all.
I’m also not giving anyone a lump sum of cash. Absolutely not. I’ll make sure my peeps are set with a paid off home, yep, and then they’ll receive a monthly payout from stocks and whatnot. You get a regular slice of happy every 30 days. If I’m on a budget, you’re on a budget, and we all stay mates.
And why would I do this?
Who the hell do I think I am?
Err… the lottery-winning bitch, fool — that’s who!
Because, and I used my bestie as a test subject, imagine I dump a substantial amount of cash on her one time. Day one, as she exits her rental Maybach, she skips the 10ft into the nearest overpriced shop and pulls an absolute nonsense move, like swiping on 15 fur coats. My bestie would never, nor would she be seen in a fur, but just go with it.
This goes on for some time and, lo-and-behold, on the last swipe, the well has run dry. Yes, she’s accumulated a bunch of expensive rubbish, but she’s out of liquid funds.
My bestie hits me up on her gold iPhone 356, desperate for another cash injection. Yeah, no, we’re not doing that. Now my bestie of literal decades has a viral 42-part TikTok about me and how I let her starve in the streets of London. Lies upon lies!
Now if we replay this exact scenario, except swap out the lump sum of cash for a monthly payout. Same bestie, probably same rental Maybach, and skipping but she’s limited in her purchases … for a time. It’s day 29 and boom, she’s out of cash, again!
My bestie hits me up… AGAIN!
At this point, I would be looking at her dead in her sweaty face ’cause she’s wearing one of her furs and it’s 80 degrees out, and blinking at her “Help me, I’m broke” face.
Absolutely not!! Guess what, Tuts, Annie was right, cue the song:
“The sun’ll come out next mooooonth. Bet your bottom dollar, that next mooooonth …. There’ll be funds!”
And end scene.
Until then, move along little girl! You’re tapped out, and now you’re making me hot just looking at you.
Now here’s my question: what’s your wild splurge if you suddenly hit a windfall? And please tell me it’s more exciting than mine; I clearly need juicier ideas. But also, spare me the 62 pandas.
