The "Bigger House" Syndrome

Thirty year old man: "Life's good, but if only I had a house as nice Bill Jones down the street, life would be even better."

Man works 80 hours a week for the next 15 years at a job he hates in order to afford the 20% down on his dream house.

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The now 45 year old man: "I like my new digs, but if only I had a Corvette like Larry Saunders over in Gorham does to show I still got it. That would be sweet."

Man works 10 more years of soul crushing 80 hour weeks shoveling shit at the job he now hates with every fiber of his being.

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The now 55 year old man: "The ride is nice and I love the house, but I need some 'Me Time' with the spouse. The islands are nice this time of year. Honey, we should take a month long cruise, like the Smiths did last year."

Man spends another 40,000 (80 hours a week X 50 or so weeks in a year X 10 years) hours working that crappy job to afford to be able to take some time off.

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The now 65 old man wants to give his kids down payments for THEIR dream homes (which are twice as much as they can afford), so he works extra hard, putting in 90 hours a week moving piles of feces from Point A to Point B down at the Manure Plant.

Man says "This is great. I've got everything I need.... Except for a vacation home."

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While toiling in the Great Manure Mine of Maine so he can spend a week Down East at the new place, the now decrepit and beaten 65 old man feels something tightening in his sunken, soulless chest. It's a heart attack, apparently. His boss calls 911 (after our hero finishes his shit shoveling shift).

Before the ambulance arrives, he dies.

Such is life.