Many people drive down avenues in suburbia, eyes wide, looking for a “dream” home.
They finally achieve the key to “happiness”, 3,000 square feet of mass produced opulence. In the driveway you have your Beeemer or other foreign made zip mobile parked, like a flag to neighbors, look at me, see what I have!
The first little shocker is the $7,000 property tax bill. The government figures if you can show it off, you must have coin, and its fingers like probing deep into the crevices of your income, here and everywhere.
Not only is your health and life important, it must be insured. So is your home and vehicle and maintenance contracts be required on all appliances, to keep everything ship shape and happy.
By the way, the government collected taxes on all the items purchased, levied fees for licenses and permits in building your estate on Valhalla Drive.
In order to complete the masterpiece called Americana, 50 inch flat screens, at minimum two, must be obtained and connected to satellites or cables for paltry monthly installments to watch commercials and endless reruns.
You get tired of this and would like to go out and have a little fun with your neighbors at the “Cheers” bar a few blocks away, where for the first time in years they actually have live entertainment. Your wallet is empty and your credit cards are maxed out.
You sneak a few bills from the kid’s piggy bank and go to the bar, and sip on one beer all night as you have no coin. You justify it to yourself, well, at least I am not driving drunk, which is a good thing, but you would have liked maybe two more.
When you get home you notice the taxed electricity bill on the kitchen counter, which you let slide the previous month as your credit card and car payments take priority.
You go home and remind yourself you have to pay the gardener tomorrow, thankful its Saturday so your check won’t clear till Monday and you will have it covered by then.
Then you think to yourself, is this happiness?
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