My ideal life. As in, ideal future.

I'll be in my home office, because I'm so high up my career ladder, I can work at home and still make loads. My home office has an enormous window - the entire wall! - and it has red velvet curtains with gold trimming, because that's what they always have in the posh offices you see in the movies - it's always green or red, red or green.
My desk is dark varnished wood, the kind that is so shiny, you can't resist running your hands over the surface. It will have fancy craftsmanship, preferably horses. Because horses are majestic, and wooden horses on shiny wooden desks are even more fancier.
I'll have a swivel chair, because swivel chairs are fun to have and they look professional. The chair will be either maroon or black leather.
Photos of my beautiful family will be on my desk, so I can look at them while I work. Silly, I know, because we're just a wall apart but still.
The walls will be this brownish-grey colour, and the bookshelves will be the same shade. The walls will have paintings and photos of famous photographers, because it will look good and impressive. And besides, if I put my family photos there, what will there be left to hang outside the office?

My little son, Ashton Bradford whatever and my daughter that is yet to be named because I can't think of a cool enough name right now, will come in my office, bearing a tray of snacks they conjured up. They are followed by the man of my life. Tall, handsome for his age and lovely forearms. He is wearing the blue and white striped shirt I love so much, rolled up at the sleeves to reveal his forearms. He knows I adore his forearms, because they are so muscular and manly and nice to hold. He is wearing this shirt because he loves me, even though he might not like it so much. He still wears it anyway, because that is how much he loves me.

My husband is a successful owner of his own PR firm. And though he's a busy man, he always makes time for his family because it's the type of man he is - another factor to why I love him so much and agreed to marry the man.

The fantasy ends here because I do not want you to know what happens after, because I am not sure how old you are when you are reading this and I don't want your parents sue-ing me for corrupting your minds.

Because what happens after the kids are sent off to play in their nursery, and after the door is locked firmly and the curtains drawn shut, is completely none of your business. I will be a very happy woman with a man with fine, fine hands.