Spoiled to the Core

How could I possibly understand the mitigated damage I have taken? A spoiled ramrod that received nothing more than a slap on the wrist, a soft paddle to the behind, and a mother who dared never to insult me. Will I beseech my future wife with incessant requests, my silver spoon glaring for her to see? Or will I beat her into submission with my rotten tongue, throwing a fit until she gives into my will. Is this the man I am going to be? Is this the man that I already am?

Oh, how I wish I could have been raised by disciplinarians, so then I could blame no one but myself. Strong parents who did not send me the way of the bourgeoisie but instead, taught me how to live like the common folk. Maybe I would thrive as a merchant, or become a prolific business man. Maybe I would be worthy of a good woman and not another sapless floozy. But those are hypothetical and there is no room in life for that type of thinking. I am who I am and who I am is a man lost without a cause. This is what I get for getting everything. This is what I get for having rich parents.