I hate money

It boggles my mind how many thousands of dollars we go through just to have a regular life. We aren't taking wild vacations or buying Eddie Bauer limited edition SUVs. We don't eat out every night (believe me, with two little kids now that doesn't even sound appealing anymore). But somehow, we manage to drain the checking account (and then some) each and every month.
Hard to believe that there are people in this world who are so fabulously wealthy that they don't think twice about how much they spend. I often dream of being one of them. Not because I want the latest Louis Vuitton bag or a nicer house, but just because I HATE the stress of living a little too close to our means. Don't go out there and hold a bake sale on our behalf, and I know that there are many, many people striving just as hard, if not harder, than us and having even more barriers in their paths. I don't really want more stuff (although I'd never turn down a new pair of shoes) I just want to not stress about bills.
But with any kind of blessing comes a level of stress, right? If I had a bunch of money, maybe I'd be worried that I didn't get the RIGHT Louis Vuitton bag, or that the circle I ran with was going to a better resort than I for my Carribbean vacation. Maybe I'd be stressed that the zip code my house was in was not the hippest place to be anymore. Maybe I'd worry that my interior decorator was not going to finish decorating my house before the big cocktail party I'd be hosting for my many wealthy cohorts and then they'd wonder about my ability to hire a decorator. Maybe I'd meet the president at some sort of soiree for rich people and I'd pop off at the mouth and he'd have my phone lines tapped. Then I'd end up in Abu-Garib or some such place just waiting for my charges to be published and an attorney to be granted.
So I guess I don't wish for more money. That would really stink.