Monday:

Why don’t you plan your final meal just in case you ever find yourself on death row? I hope you don’t, but it never hurts to plan ahead. I would like a bowl of tomato soup to begin. Then an egg salad sandwich on homemade bread with loads of black pepper kettle chips. For the next course I would love some alfredo with freshly made pasta and a glass of champagne. Dessert would be a chocolate pot de crème and a perfectly ripe grapefruit. Give me a shot of excellent espresso and I’d be ready for the gallows.

Tuesday:

Why don’t you plan a trip around the world? It doesn’t take eighty days anymore, like it did for the fictional travel god, Phileas Fogg. Instead, you can take a leisurely month through the hemispheres, stopping as your fancy strikes in Dubai and Tokyo and Berlin and Moscow and London and Lisbon and Milan and Casablanca and Montreal and anywhere you want to be.

Wednesday:

Why don’t you become chummy with a doctor, a lawyer, a barista, and a tailer? These are all excellent people to know and get things from without having to pay huge sums of your money. Sure, it’s a bit scummy, but isn’t the world scummy enough as it is? Take advantage of your new friends when you have caffeine withdrawals or a stalker or a shirt that needs fitted. (I have all three at the moment.) Offer them some kind of service, too, of course. Don’t be a jerk.

Thursday:
Why don’t you go through your closets and find things you haven’t worn in forty years and give them to the poor? I’m nowhere near forty, but there are some shirts in there that feel like it’s been that long since I’ve worn them. It was difficult to get started, but I’ve started a small pile to donate and dispose of. I never realized how much I had or how little I used. Slowly becoming a minimalist that wears only black is one of the greatest decisions of my life. Such peace of mind.

Friday:

Why don’t you buy a beautiful parrot and teach it horrifyingly vulgar language? Think of how fun it’d be to throw a formal dinner party or invite a distinguished guest over for a cocktail and have your bird screech out a string of disgusting slurs! I’d look scandalized, of course, then giggle for days. You could also teach your parrot some poetry, but is that really going to be as amusing for you? No. Didn’t think so.