The Griffin living room was a whirlwind of noise. The television blared commercials, Chris was sprawled on the carpet with potato chips scattered like snowflakes, and Stewie sat in his playpen, quietly plotting world domination.
Lois entered with a bright smile. "Family, I have exciting news!"
Peter looked up from the couch, holding a half-eaten sandwich. "We finally gettin' that solid gold toilet seat I ordered?"
Lois blinked. "No, Peter. My Aunt Marguerite passed away."
Peter gasped dramatically. "Oh my God! That's... wait, is that good or bad news?"
Lois sighed. "Peter, she left us her mansion — Summer Wind!"
The room fell silent for a moment. Then Peter's jaw dropped. "A mansion?! Like, a *real* mansion? With chandeliers and rich people soap that looks like seashells?"
"Yes," Lois said, smiling softly. "We'll have to go out there this weekend to settle her estate."
Peter jumped up from the couch, pumping his fists. "Road trip! Pack your bags, everyone! We're movin' on up, like the Jeffersons! But with more body odor!"
Stewie smirked from his crib. "Ah, splendid. A new estate to conquer. Perhaps this one will have fewer buffoons and more potential for tyranny."
---
The following weekend, the Griffins arrived at Summer Wind — a breathtaking mansion on a hill that overlooked the ocean. The house loomed with an elegant, almost ghostly grace, complete with towering windows, ivy-covered walls, and a fountain shaped like a topless angel that Peter kept staring at for the wrong reasons.
Lois sighed in nostalgia. "I spent so many summers here as a girl. Aunt Marguerite loved this place."
Peter pressed his face against a marble pillar. "Lois, I can *smell* the money. It smells like... old people and lemon polish!"
Inside, the house was even more luxurious. Velvet drapes, golden frames, and a dining table long enough to seat an army. Brian sniffed the air appreciatively. "Well, well. Finally, a place that matches my refined taste."
Peter puffed his chest. "Yeah, and we're keepin' it! No more of that middle-class stuff for us, Lois. From now on, we're livin' the high life! Caviar, tuxedos, and no more generic-brand beer!"
Lois frowned. "Peter, it's not that simple. We have to decide whether we can even afford the upkeep on this place."
But Peter wasn't listening. He had already found the parlor room — and more importantly, a silver tray of leftover caviar.
He dipped his finger into the black pearls and popped it into his mouth. His eyes lit up like fireworks. "Oh... my... God! Lois! This is what rich people eat? It's like fish jelly from heaven!"
Brian rolled his eyes. "Yes, Peter, it's an acquired taste. Usually acquired by people with class."
Peter was too busy eating. "I'm classin' up right now, buddy!"
---
That night, Peter gathered the family in the grand dining room. He was dressed in a robe and slippers that were clearly stolen from a guest room, holding a glass of champagne he couldn't pronounce.
"Family," he announced, "we're no longer the Griffins. From now on, we're the *Griffingtons!*"
Meg groaned. "Oh God..."
Lois sighed. "Peter, please don't embarrass me in my aunt's house."
But Peter had already planned a fancy dinner party. He invited all of Quahog's upper-class residents — people who wore suits just to talk about taxes.
The guests arrived in pearls and tuxedos, greeted by Peter at the door. "Welcome, rich people! My name's Peter Griffington! Please wipe your feet on the poor before entering."
Brian muttered under his breath, "Subtle as always."
The evening began with classical music, fine wine, and awkward small talk. But Peter, desperate to fit in, tried too hard.
He started copying the guests' accents, saying things like, "Ah yes, splendid weather, isn't it?" and "My word, this brie is simply divine." He even began holding his pinky finger up whenever he drank — though his drink was a can of beer hidden in a champagne flute.
When one of the guests asked, "Peter, what do you do for a living?" Peter froze. "Uh... I'm... an importer-exporter of... uh... important exports!"
Lois covered her face.
---
As the night went on, Peter got drunk and climbed onto the table. "Hey, you rich guys ever wonder what it's like to eat caviar *with your hands*?" he slurred, grabbing a fistful. "It's like... a party in your mouth and nobody paid cover!"
The guests gasped. A lady fainted. Brian sighed deeply.
The next morning, Lois stormed into the bedroom. "Peter! You embarrassed me in front of everyone! Aunt Marguerite would be *mortified!*"
Peter rubbed his temples. "Oh, Lois, come on! I was just tryin' to fit in! You think it's easy bein' classy? You gotta keep your pinky up the whole time! My hand still hurts!"
But the real trouble began when Lois learned the truth: they couldn't afford to keep the mansion. The inheritance taxes were massive, and selling Summer Wind was their only choice.
Peter was devastated. "Lois, you can't sell it! This place has chandeliers, and a toilet that talks! It told me 'good job' this morning!"
Lois looked at him sadly. "Peter, this isn't who we are. We're not rich people. We're just... us."
For a long moment, Peter stood there quietly. Then he sighed. "You're right, Lois. We're Griffins. And Griffins don't need fancy stuff to be happy."
Brian smirked. "No, just alcohol and poor life decisions."
Peter grinned. "Exactly!"
---
Before leaving, the family took one last walk through the mansion. Lois ran her hand along the walls. "Goodbye, Aunt Marguerite. Thank you for everything."
Peter saluted dramatically. "Rest easy, old lady. You raised the bar real high. And also your toilet seat."
As they drove away in their rusty station wagon, the mansion stood tall behind them, glowing in the sunset.
Peter sighed dreamily. "You know, Lois... I think I left my soul back there."
Lois smiled. "Oh, Peter, you never had one."
The family burst into laughter as the car rumbled down the road — returning, once again, to their chaotic but perfectly ordinary life.