It seems that everyone dreams of winning the lottery, imagining all the things they’d do, buy, or donate to if they became a millionaire. In fact, some women (and men) blatantly say that they want to marry a millionaire.
So imagine my delight upon entering the cafe/bakery in Cape Town yesterday to see a sign saying, “We have millionaires.” I thought, “At last, I’ve found where they hide!” I wondered if I could order one to spec: tall, nice looking, good sense of humor, loves to travel, kind, generous and adoring (of me!).
I then found a second sign: “Ask waiters for millionaires!” Eureka — I could have my millionaire served up as ordered. Cool!
I walked over to the waiter and said, “I’d like a millionaire, please.” But the response was not what I’d hoped: “I’m sorry, we’re out today.”
Just my luck. I have a chance to order a millionaire from the place that makes them and usually has them in stock, and they are fresh out when I arrive. Bummer!
I guess I’ll have to look for them on Rodeo Drive, at high-end country clubs, and Ferrari dealerships. None of which are my regular haunts.
(A millionaire is a yummy cookie made of shortbread with caramel, topped in chocolate.)
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