Obviously not everyone needs that daily challenge. Every once in a while when I get the opportunity to saunter leisurely around malls in the early mornings - such as I did today, I try to see how the other more fortunate half lives.
Seriously? Forget about being a desperate housewife, if only I had my life to life again, honestly I would love to be the wife of an expat. :P Hopefully one with the delicious looks of Chris Evans / Brandon Routh, the unbelievable stamina of an Eveready Rabbit and the inexhaustible credit of Bill Gates. Heard people whispering about being financially independent and making your own way? Hell, there's such a thing as naughty solicitors and criminal divorce settlements if things go bad.
Nerve wracking waiting for the maid to arrive...
Really. I would like to spend my early mornings making toast and pancakes as a hearty breakfast for my diligently working gainfully employed husband - and then when he leaves for work, leave it all for the indigent foreign maid to clean up afterwards as I leave for my late morning facial, pedicure and manicure. After my exhausting facial ( darling, we need to keep the hubby interested! ), I shall toddle off for a light civilized brunch with my other similarly fortunate fashionista sisters in some frou frou, desperately expensive restaurant where the food looks and tastes heavenly but the minute portion's only enough to leave me wanting more - and possibly helping keep me impossibly stick-thin.
My cronies, the leisurely ladies who lunch, will then pick apart the latest suburban gossip - especially amongst the local community - before launching on our next worthy charity cause, whether it's breast cancer, the local art scene or maybe something more mundane like some unfortunate orphan in some unbeknownst third world nation.
Then for the evenings, I shall be off for stimulating lessons to improve my mind such as pottery, modern dance or tantric yoga. In between these sessions of course, I'll find the time to whine and moan about the serious lack of attention from my disappearing workaholic husband while flashing my Tiffany bling blings and my latest season Prada handbag in their envious faces.
When I'm done twisting into several abnormal positions - while batting heavy lashes at the undeniably sexy virile instructor, I shall rush home in my luxurious Lexus to prepare dinner. Or should I say, more like pointing at a random page on my cookbook and ordering the maid to prepare the meal while I catch up with the latest episode of Desperate Housewives.
Now, seriously don't you wanna be a desperate socialite?