Money can’t buy you happiness, but it can confuse the hell out of you!


Luxury confuses me.

Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy the odd encounter with luxury, but I do usually find it quite bewildering.

I mean, this hotel room is mind-blowingly incredible, and I’m so relaxed, but I can’t figure out how to use the toilet. Every time I just stand there looking at it until it flushes. Sometimes it takes a really long time so I go looking for a button, but then it catches me off guard and suddenly flushes. Why can’t I have a normal toilet that doesn’t make my toilet experience so confusing?

A few days ago, there was a dish of tiny bacon bits next to the dishes of cereal at the buffet. I assumed it was tiny pieces of dried fruit and put it on my coco pops and yogurt. I wasn’t mad when I realised, just confused. Is bacon on cereal a luxury thing? Or perhaps both the cereal and the bacon bits were meant to go on the salad nearby?

The next morning at breakfast, my waffles arrived with icing sugar, maple syrup, sausages and salad. What? Then I ended up with syrup on my salad, which was quite a perplexing taste experience, because there was salad dressing on there too, and really that’s too much.

Add to that the tiny, two pronged forks with which you are meant to eat your salad-in-a-shot glass, and breakfast left me with a stunned expression and cake in my hair.

On the subject of food, the room I’m staying in now is amazing (as I mentioned), with a really incredible wooden bath that fills itself to the perfect level and then stops. Which has nothing to do with food, except that it comes with apples to put in the bath. Yes, apples. I would rather just eat them, but apparently when you’re wealthy, you bathe in fruit. So, that’s a thing…

Is it a food or is it a bath product?
Is it a food or is it a bath product?

Also, it seems like when you’re wealthy, you either indulge in luxury by wearing expensive designer clothes and shoes, or pyjamas. There’s no middle ground here. I can either go to dinner in my evening wear, or the comfy cotton ‘leisure wear’ (read: pyjamas) they provide. Because, you know, jeans would be weird.

All in all, it’s probably a good thing that I’m not wealthy. Partly because the constant struggle between confusion and relaxation might eventually make my brains come out my nose, and partly because I might starve to death while bathing in bacon bits.


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