Do any of you remember the show on T.V. that was called “Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous”? This was back in the eighties at the height of the “Greed is Good” era when everything had to be bigger, better and more over the top.
Every week, the host, Robin Leach, would take us to some celebrity’s fancy home or vacation getaway and give us a peek into lifestyles none of us will ever have in our lifetime (I imagine some of those celebrities no longer have those lifestyles either). In his British accent, Mr. Leach would always gush about “champagne wishes and caviar dreams”.
My college roommate and I would imitate his accent and joke about how we would be on a show called, “Lifestyles of the Poor and Obscure” and instead of champagne and caviar it would be “Cheetos and Sprite!”
The show was truly a parade of ridiculous consumerism. Houses with fifteen bathrooms, gold-plated toilets, guest houses bigger than most of the high-end houses in my city. Vacations to Morocco, the Caribbean, lavish chalets in the Swiss Alps.
Let’s put it this way. Some of the featured homes and vacations on “Lifestyles” made The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills look like peasants.
Which brings me to one of the most ridiculous finds during my cyber shopping trips for Christmas. I was trying to think of ideas for my two toddler granddaughters and kind of fell down a rabbit hole of little girl/boy toys. I browsed Barbie dream houses and reminisced about the year I was actually lucky enough to get one myself (after much begging my Dad to put in a word with Santa and being on my best behavior for at least two months).
From the dream houses, I managed to make my way to the outdoor playhouses. You know, like the plastic Little Tykes ones that are very simple and don’t really look like a house of any kind. And that’s when it happened.
The most craptacular example of extravagance I have witnessed in a really long time.
It’s not a play house. It’s a PLAY MANSION!
I mean, really ready for it?
That’s not a type-o. That’s ELEVEN THOUSAND, ONE HUNDRED SIXTY DOLLARS. And no cents. Or sense, as the case appears to be.
Yes, that’s right. For the low, low price of $11,160.00, your child can play “house” in a mansion befitting the little prince or princess that they are.
Isn’t that special?
But the best part truly is the reviews. I’ve captured my two favorites here:
I tried to imagine what kind of person buys this thing. I mean, I guess it would be really rich people. I guess I also was surprised by something like this being available on Amazon. I don’t know why I didn’t think rich people shop on Amazon. Did I think they went to The Rich People Store to buy their stuff? Or rather, they sent their staff to The Rich People Store? I don’t know. I just know that it would be really odd if a “regular” person bought something like this for their kid.
I was so inspired by the reviews that I decided to write one of my own as a “regular” person who somehow managed to cough up eleven grand. It would go something like this:
I’d like to thank The Little Cottage Company for their prompt shipment of our order of the Grand Portico Mansion Playhouse, although I was deeply disappointed that it came disassembled. I realize that I am not “old money” or “new money” or “any money at all” as I had to take out a second mortgage to purchase this play house. I realize I may be uneducated in the ways of the “One Percent” but I feel obligated to point out that I paid almost as much money for the shit hole I actually live in and it came fully assembled with a lawn, a garage and wall to wall carpeting.
With those issues aside, finding the perfect location in our yard was of upmost importance. I finally settled on the slanted patch of grass between the termite-infested shed and the strip of grass our dog likes to use as her potty. After all, with twenty-two working playhouse windows, I had to be sure the view was a good one for my spoiled little darling. I settled on this particular site because it affords a majestic view of our above ground swimming pool and the neighbor’s redneck bug zapper on the bright orange extension cord. It’s also just a stone’s throw away from our cracked patio slab and our patio furniture that stains everybody’s butts green with the paint that keeps rubbing off. Remember that the motto of real estate is “Location, Location, Location!”
Speaking of those windows, I’m particularly impressed with the safety glass. After all, when the pretend stock market plunges, I would really hate for our little Prince to actually hurt himself when he hurls himself from the second floor loft.
Another noteworthy touch to this house, is the fact that the child’s door is in the front and the adult door is in the back. This gives the mansion a realistic feel, as what parent doesn’t want to feel like a servant, delegated to coming in the back entrance to the estate before proceeding to wash all twenty-two windows? I’m thinking of buying a French Maid’s uniform for myself and a Butler get-up for the husband, just to make it authentic.
And then we can play our own version of “house”.
It truly is a gift for the entire family.
Of course, I don’t want my little tater to forget his good ol’ southern roots, so I’ll be throwing an old sofa on the front porch and a play car on blocks in the front yard. First class all the way!
I can’t wait to start my second and third jobs to pay this little gem off.
The views expressed in this totally fake review are the sole opinion of Kat at Angel Who Swears Blog and do not reflect the opinions of anyone else on the planet. Any similarity to any person, living or dead, is purely coincidental and possibly due to some kick-ass telepathic powers I didn’t know I had. I did not actually purchase this play house, nor do I intend to; however, if you’d like to send me one for Christmas I can get you my address. Or better yet, just send the cash. Tens and twenties, please.