Money can’t buy happiness, but you can bet your bottom dollar I’d be happier with a little moolah lining my pockets. My bank account wouldn’t be so stingy if I didn’t live as high on the hog. Let’s face it, money talks and right now it’s telling me to bring home the bacon.
It’s said if you do what you love the money will follow, but no one’s ever chipped in a fistful of dead presidents while I’m golfing. If the best things in life are free, why do restaurants demand a king’s ransom for a dirt-cheap bottle of wine?
You can be flat broke and still feel like a million bucks…until your roots grow out. When it’s time to shell out for new highlights, get ready to make it rain. If I could cut my own hair without looking deranged, it would save me paying through the nose. The last time I gambled on a ‘trim your own bangs’ wine whim, my fringe paid the piper.
I wasn’t born with a silver spoon in my mouth, so I understand that money doesn’t grow on trees. However, a girl can dream she’s worth her weight in gold just to get back on her feet again. I’m not talking six figures, but a little more than chump change would help foot the bills.
Time is money, so a 1 in 14 million shot to win the lottery before retirement is still on the table. If I hit the jackpot, I’d keep it real. Nouveau riche are as phony as a three dollar bill. Until that cash cow comes my way, I’ll keep buying those 649’s cuz you pays your money and you takes your chances.
What happened to my boom? Back when the lavish price of oil feathered our nest egg. Before my rainy day reserves went in the red. Before the gravy train derailed. When it comes down to it, love is more important than money. So in that sense, I’m a rich bitch. After all, you can’t take it with you when you go…
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