Things I can afford that the middle class cannot: A long and luxurious life

As you may recall from last week’s Week in Review, the wealthy live, on average, approximately five years longer than everyone else. So, in honor of this fact, allow me to espouse yet another benefit of being fabulously wealthy.

Now, the study may be rooted in medical fact, but I believe we live much longer because we have much more to live for. Yes, being able to afford the best doctors and medical treatment is nice. As is not having to drive to Canada to get my cholesterol medication. I love the fact that Medicare is something I partake in only because I’ve paid so much into the system. Of course I don’t need it, but that won’t stop me from using it.

I love the security of knowing that if I should be stricken with cancer, I’ll actually have treatment options and won’t be relegated to receiving treatment at some sub-par HMO cancer center. How one deals with such a prospect is beyond me. In fact, I don’t see much difference between receiving “normal” treatment and simply letting the disease spread.

Being wealthy means I can receive the most advanced preventative care available. Yearly, I undergo a barrage of tests designed to identify any and all afflictions that may be present in my perfectly maintained body. I have at my disposal a dedicated team of physicians whose only purpose in life is to keep me operating at peak capacity and I have chef, personal trainer, massage therapist and relaxation expert at my beckon call. If my eyesight goes, laser surgery will fix it. If my skin begins to sag, plastic surgery will tighten it up. If my heart fails, I’ll buy a new one.

Of course, my dedication to living is predicated on the fact that, unlike much of the poor and middle-class, I have something to live for. Actually, I have an abundance of things to live for. I know that as I age, my body will not break down and I will be able to sail my boats, drive my cars and love my wife with equal vigor. I know that unlike the poor and middle class, my golden years will not be spent in casinos and bingo halls. I know that the stress of living on a fixed income won’t slowly erode my will to live and that my grandchildren will still love me because I’ll be able to give them more than five dollars for Christmas.

Unlike the poor and middle class, I know that my wealth allows me to endlessly sip at the fountain of youth and I know that when death comes, I won’t welcome it with arms wide open, grateful that it has rescued me from a life of premature decay. Instead, I’ll make it sit in the fine Italian leather seat of my Aston Martin as I slam into a concrete retaining wall.