Your kitchen is someplace you never go, because you "have people for that." There's a Chocolatessin, a word you made up yourself, but that is beginning to catch on among your wealthy neighbors. Your master bedroom is the size of a small barn, with carpet thick enough to reach your ankles. Your study has hardback editions of every classic ever written, plus a special edition of Rich Dad, Poor Dad with the parts you ghost-authored highlighted. One of your garages holds your collection of ferraris, and is measured in acreage.

Your home also includes a guest wing and private quarters for your servants. Your guests enjoy your home theater with hi-def plasma screen TV, and the thrones you watch it from. Outside is your hedge maze and gardens, meticulously tended by a team of world-class botanists.

Below is a snippet of the blueprints: