My mother assured me when I got home from work tonight that I’d be rich by the time I was twenty. Seeing as how that’s only seven months away, I don’t think that’ll be the case. Twenty-five, maybe. See, it’s just that right now, I’m work’s bitch [and while mom assures me that the grammar there is not correct, the apostrophe is, because “you are the bitch in work’s possession”]. Seriously, I’m putting in 40 hour weeks stretched over six days. Four days a week, I am Molly, concession stand attendant to BVFAC patrons. Two days a week, I am Molly, congressional intern. It’s exhausting, I tell you. And sometimes, downright depressing (especially considering the fact that I only get paid for 24 hours of my work week).
Sometimes, I have to admit, feelings of inadequacy can sneak up – especially when I read news stories about kids climbing Mt. Everest and creating philanthropic organizations. But, though I haven’t done anything profound or really noteworthy, I have big plans. One of those, aside from being co-owner of Spines & Crusts (obviously), is being a White House speechwriter. And, man, if I play my cards right, look at what I could be making: www.whitehouse.gov
What will I do with all the money I intend to amass over the next few decades? Well, get a couple of residences. You know, DC townhouse, manor house in England, and a fishing cabin in either Alabama or Minnesota (I’ve got time to decide, but dad’s pulling for Alabama). But, maybe my real estate purchases will result in something a little more large-scale. Here’s what I’m talking about: an entire freaking village! And yes, you did read that right. I. Can’t. Wait.