I Have A Mansion In The Post-apocalyptic World
Okay, so picture this. The world? Toast. Like, radioactive toast. But me? I'm chilling. Why? Because I have a freaking mansion. Yeah, you heard me. A mansion. In the post-apocalyptic wasteland. How did *that* happen, you ask? Well, that's a story for another time (maybe over some salvaged coffee, if I can find any!).
Think about it. Everyone else is scrounging for scraps, fighting over contaminated water, and dodging mutant squirrels (seriously, the squirrels are terrifying now). And I'm... sipping (carefully filtered) lemonade on my veranda. I mean, sure, the veranda overlooks a crater where the old mall used to be, but hey, ambiance, right?
Don't get me wrong, it's not all sunshine and purified water. There are challenges. Big challenges. Like, zombie hordes trying to use my swimming pool as a communal bath. Eww. Or raiders mistaking my antique silverware for valuable loot. They have no taste, I swear.
But, you know what they say? Location, location, location! And my mansion? It's apparently built on some kind of magical, radiation-shielding, zombie-repelling ley line. Or maybe the architect was just really good. Who knows? Either way, I'm not complaining!
So, What's Mansion Life *Really* Like?
Well, first off, cleaning is a nightmare. Dust bunnies the size of small dogs? Check. Mysterious stains that glow in the dark? Double-check. I've seriously considered training the mutant squirrels to clean, but, you know, risk vs. reward. They might just eat all the heirloom furniture. And the screaming.
Then there's the decorating. Or lack thereof. My interior design choices currently consist of "whatever hasn't been looted or destroyed." Think minimalist chic meets "I found this in a ditch." Not exactly Martha Stewart, am I?
Security is, understandably, a major concern. I've got a few automated turrets, some strategically placed bear traps (for the squirrels, mostly), and a very grumpy, very large dog named Princess Fluffybutt the Destroyer. Don't let the name fool you. She's all business.
And let's not forget the utilities! Power? Solar, baby! (Thank goodness for those solar panels the previous owners installed... Who *were* those people, anyway?). Water? Rainwater collection and a super-duper filtration system. Internet? Okay, that's a no-go. But I've got a pretty impressive collection of pre-apocalypse books. You know, actual paper books. Remember those?
Oh, and the garden! I'm trying to grow food. Keyword: *trying*. So far, I've managed to cultivate some surprisingly resilient tomatoes and a whole lot of weeds. But hey, progress, right? Maybe someday I'll have a full-blown apocalypse-proof farm. Think of the possibilities!
The Upsides (Besides, You Know, Being Alive)
Honestly? The space. I have so. Much. Space. Like, ballroom-dancing-while-wearing-a-hazmat-suit space. I could start a post-apocalyptic dance studio! (Note to self: find students who haven't mutated.)
And the privacy! No neighbors to complain about my late-night mutant squirrel wrestling matches. (Okay, *I* complain about them.) It's gloriously, terrifyingly quiet.
Plus, let's be real, there's a certain satisfaction in knowing that while everyone else is struggling, I'm... relatively comfortable. Is that selfish? Maybe. But hey, survival of the fittest, right?
The Future? Who Knows!
Maybe I'll become the queen of the wasteland. Maybe I'll open a bed and breakfast for weary travelers (assuming any travelers *make* it here). Maybe I'll just spend the rest of my days reading old books and fighting off zombie hordes. The possibilities are endless! (And slightly terrifying.)
But one thing's for sure: I'm doing it all from my mansion. Because, why not? And who knows, maybe you'll visit someday. Just... try not to track any radiation into the foyer, okay?
Anyway, gotta go. Princess Fluffybutt is barking at something... probably just a particularly judgmental dust bunny. Talk soon!
