My partner and I just returned from Australia, where we celebrated our tenth anniversary. Fortunately, since he travels for work, and since I’m a miles whore who will open any kind of account (credit card, checking, sperm bank) for free frequent flyer miles, this gave us enough mileage to fly business class.

Many of us have probably had some occasion to ride in the front of the bus on a domestic flight, which mostly consists of some free booze and a seat with almost as much legroom as coach seats had in 1978. But business or first class internationally, on the Airbus A-380? It’s like you’ve died and become the Sultan of Brunei.

Okay, there aren’t any solid gold fixtures on an A-380. Or Death to America posters (usually). And no virgins waiting to be deflowered, although I have heard rumors about what goes on among the flight attendants when we’re all asleep.

But there are egg-shaped seats (that turn into lie-flat beds) so far apart you could stage Riverdance in between them. Nonstop almost-delicious meals and snacks. Enough cocktails and wine to require the presence of a liver transplant surgeon. Designer amenity kits. Pajamas (the size of which are determined by your flight attendant, which can be incredibly flattering or a giant bitch slap). Ever-changing mood lighting. A small lounge and snack bar. And so many first-run movies on your personal entertainment system that you feel like Louis B. Mayer sitting in his private screening room firing underlings.

Sandy and I had never been on the A-380 (since they’re only used for flights that are long enough to require haircuts and a calendar). But I think we should do ALL our travel this way.

I would like to arrive for work fresh from enjoying a truffle omelet and a Bloody Mary. I would like to travel to my in-laws’ house while watching Moneyball, swathed in a duvet. I would like to make a supermarket run wearing Qantas PJ’s and an eye mask that makes me look like a pretentious homeless bank robber. Performing my day-to-day travel via the A-380 would mean that I arrived fresh, sparkling, and slightly tanked.

So if someone could lend me $300 milllion, I’d really appreciate it. I’ll pay you back, really. ‘Cause opening enough credit cards to get a $300 million cash advance should get me a shitload of miles.