The Glamorous Life of the SJG

Nothing but nachos at the SJG palace.

At least once a day, or maybe it's once a year, I forget, someone dripping with envy stops me on the street and asks about my glamorous life. The Q&A goes something like this:
"Is your life as luxurious and wonderful as you make it seem in your blog?"
"Yes, it is."
"Really?"
"Absolutely."
"So you're not making things up?"
"How dare you."
"Have I offended you?"
"Deeply."
"I'm just wondering about the palatial estate, the full-time staff of personal shleppers, the elegant soirees, the sons who give you nothing but nachos..."
"Not nachos. My sons have never given me nachos."
"But I thought it was non-stop nachos over at the SJG mansion."
"You are mistaken. We are far too classy to serve nachos. What my sons serve up, on an hourly, or weekly, or bi-monthly basis is nachas."
"Does that come with cheese?"
"No, it doesn't. It comes with joy and blessings. That's what my sons serve me, semi-regularly."
"That's nice."
"Oh, it's more than nice, mister. It's rare. But then, rarity suits my fabulous lifestyle. I'm not interested in the commonplace."
"Which you swear is 100 percent accurately portrayed in your blog."
"I'm not under oath. Now if you don't mind, I need to get on with my spectacular existence. Here's a monogrammed SJG towel to mop up all that envy."
"But -- "
"But nothing. Good day, sir."
"Wait -- "
"I said good day."