By the time you read this, I will (hopefully) have an adult beverage in one hand and the other hand firmly holding the little pull-down stick on a penny slot machine.
So let's talk about what happens if my penny magically reproduces into a hundred bajillion more pennies. You know, and I can buy whatever the fuck I want.
1) A facility.
Well, no reason to work anymore. So I'm gonna quit, the husband is going to quit, and I'm going to convince him that we need to move to about an hour out of the city that we just left. Because it's horse country and I can do all the tadpole cross-country courses and fox-hunt. You know, downtown.
2) A rig.
Because being transportation-less blows. My barn in Augusta had a four horse that was magical and beautiful, but let's add some living quarters. Let's couple that with a dually. Let's learn to drive a gooseneck. Or a semi.
|Just opulent enough to be borderline pretentious.|
Anyone that would tolerate panic attacks over cross rails and have some damn good accreditations.
4) More ponies.
I hope my game wouldn't change. I hope that I would have a roving door of emaciated rescues who I picked up off the feedlot because someone with a better eye than me thought they had potential. And then I rehab them and send them off to be little girls' magical first loves.
And a mule. I want a mule.
And a mustang. Straight out of the BLM corral. With a neck tattoo.
|This is #2496, a 3 y/o mare currently located in Oregon.|
5) Custom everything.
You know. Shit that fits.