WHEN I GET RICH, AS IN SUPER, SUPER RICH!!! =D

When I get rich--as in super, super, rich!--I will build a house with a non-descript facade, an ordinary wooden door and a small pocket garden in front.


To balance the simplicity, I would line the floor with pretty, pretty tiles. The kind that practically turns into a kaleidoscope the longer you stare at them. I will have them brought in from some foreign country--never mind the cost--for no other reason than the fact that they fascinate me.


Unless I invite them in, no one would know that beyond the small pocket garden, behind the non-descript facade, through the ordinary wooden door, my pretty, pretty tiles will lead them to a room so huge, so elegant and stately, that my unsuspecting guests couldn't help but let out a gasp. Of delight? Of envy? Probably a good dose of both.


Then involuntarily, they would tug at their jackets just a wee bit closer as the cool morning breeze blows gently through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

"Is it too cold, Madams? Sirs?" my butler will ask them, as my uniformed househelps, decked in their standard French maid black-&-whites, take their places near their assigned windows, ready to act at the slightest, most subtle signal.

"No, it's OK," my guests will say. "Leave them open. We don't usually get air this fresh from where we came from."

Then, rushing ahead of my butler, my guests would gleefully run to where they want to be seated as opposed to where they ought to be led. (The butler is there for a reason, you know.) Still, my butler would just smile a knowing smile and leave them be.

My guests will take their seats beside an open window and gaze at the garden outside...until they realize that there is also a garden above...and a garden below.

Then, to squeals of delight, they will realize for the first time that this huge, elegant, stately room that my pretty, pretty tiles had led them to--beyond the pocket garden, behind the non-descript facade, through the ordinary wooden door--is actually sitting on the side of a mountain, albeit hidden from public view. (After all, the truly rich don't find the need to flaunt their wealth; they think it is an utter waste of time.)

My guests would wonder if they will be allowed to step outside and wander, but before they could ask, one of my French maids would be back, bringing with her a press full of mountain-grown coffee, roasted and brewed to perfection. Then, they would temporarily forget their desire to hie off as they lose themselves in cups filled with this dark, mystical brew.

They will be served breakfast to their liking--all carefully prepared by our in-house chef.

Huevos Rancheros if they want a Mexican meal. (I, personally,never did fancy eating one.)

Satisfaction can only be found in a Filipino breakfast for me. I'll let them try the garlicky, lean longganisa that they serve in, this, my stately home. It'll be cooked, toasted just right. I'll suggest that they dip it in our special vinegar. Sure, maybe they'd probably miss the cloying sweetness and fat that seems to be a prerequisite for the store-bought variety (I confess, I sometimes do too), but, I suppose, they can eat that next weekend. After they go home.

Or maybe, just maybe, I can persuade the Hubby to let them try the homemade corned beef that he taught our in-house chef to prepare just for him. Canned corned beef is not really available here on a regular basis (although, I must admit, that Palm Corned Beef is one of my guilty pleasures). Here, corned beef is prepared from scratch. Beef brisket cured in a special brine, flavored with secret spices. Not too salty. Not too fatty. But really flavorful. My guests would be surprised.

They will sit at my table and while the day away, conversing, laughing--until it is finally time.

At dusk, they would wish they can stay longer, but they would always--sadly--have somewhere else to go home to, something else to do.

"Next time," they would say, as we walk out on my pretty, pretty tiles, through my ordinary wooden door.

"Until next time," I would call out to them, as I stand outside my non-descript facade, as they walk through my small pocket garden to get to their cars, still laughing, waving.

These things, I dream of doing.

When I get rich.

When I get really, really rich.

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I dream only of doing these things, but those who know me well know that even if I manage to amass that much wealth, I'm too kuripot to actually build a huge, elegant, stately house on the side of some mountain. I, personally, think I'm just too darn practical. Imagine how many rental units I could buy instead! Haha. Which is why I'm glad there's Antonio's for us to go to. For all those times I want to pretend and dream.

"Tiburcio, ang kabayo." Sabay palakpak. Haha. =D