I want to be fantabulously rich!

Have you ever imagine yourself being fantabulously rich? So rich that it might take a couple of lifetime to actually spend all the money that you have. Well, i often do. And its always a thrill to think of the mayhems i would cook up with the extra pocket allowance i get. I mean, wouldn't life be quite fun if i'm a hotel heiress like paris, or son of a greek shipping god like brandon or just simply being a good ol' trust fund brat.

It will be socially glamourous to stroll thru childhood with a butler by my side. He'll be fighting off the bullies at school, doing school homework for me, organizing weekly slumber parties and telling me bedtime stories every night. I imagine him to be about six feet tall, brunette with brownish green eyes and a chiseled jawline accompanied with a bod to die for. Hey, he sounds just like josh duhamel. Hmm. Must be the after effect of transformers.

Anyway, back to being filthy rich, from the tender age of eighteen i'll probably be staying in a penthouse of my own on the hill of tinseltown with my four chihuahuas, namely, martha steward, pretzel, scarlett and tofu. Of course, mister butler would tag along obediently. Only difference is, he'll be topless most of the time, cleaning my pink heart shaped pool while i drool all over him on the breakfast table. Talking about breakfast, i'll have my own personal chef to rustle up my every meal as planned by my dietician. I would even have a food taster, just in case the chef overdo the salt in my soup. And for the fun of it, i'll have a slurpee machine and a cotton candy maker at every room in my penthouse. But personally i wouldn't be eating much of anything since being anorexic is like such a must-have for all mega rich kids. Think the olsen twins, allegra versace, miss lohan, and you'll understand what i mean.

Since i won't be expected to have a day job, i'll be spending my every other afternoons redoing my manicures, have weekly appointments with the salon to touch up my roots, facial every sunday after the big night out on saturday and non-stop shopping spree at hermes, jacob & co. and roberto cavalli. Kitson would even have 'team mr wanna' t-shirts on sale, just for me, since by now i would have attracted a strong crowd of paparazzi and photographers of my own, documenting my daily life on a regular basis. Publicity sells. So will those t-shirts. And all these because i'm richer than the average. I'm fantabulously richer. Ah the joy of being filthy rich.

If only.