I’ve done it: the perfect gift.
The gift for my wife which will keep giving and giving and giving.
And by giving I mean giving sex. To me. Forever.
This year I’m not wasting time with skimpy undergarments or jewellery or chocolate or alcohol – all of which, I’ll grant you, have a limited capacity for giving back to the gifted gift giver. But this year I’ve come up with what I’ll term my crowning glory. This year I’ve gone out and bought my wife – my queen, if you will – her own castle.
This right royally romantic place has everything a self respecting castle should come equiped with: a tower for retreating into, a moat for keeping out the kids and a fancy sexy sounding French name, la Mothe-Chandeniers.
What I do know about our castle is it sits a mere three and a half hours from Paris, the only other name I recognised anywhere near it when I punched its location up on Google Maps.
I don’t claim to have been much of an expert of the fairer sex when I was a young man more interested in matchbox cars and attempting ill-conceived Evel Knievel styled jumps with my 10 speed racer, but I’m pretty sure I remember something about how desirable being swept off your feet and carried off to a fairytale palace was. I mean it’s in Snow White and Sleeping Beauty and all the other Disney documentaries.
And here I am making it happen. Like a Renaissance boss.
Could this present even get any better?
Yes, it could.
Because I’m not having to raid neighbouring counties or raise taxes in my kingdom or marry off our children to make it happen. I haven’t even had to mortgage the family jewels to bring off the coup d’état of the century. Total cost is 60euro, or just a little shy of $100.
You see, once upon a time last week I saw an article in my newsfeed which said because of the internet over 10,000 people from over 100 countries were coming together to raise half a million euro to buy the chateau (that’s French for castle – I know these sort of things now) and save it. The place would then be renovated and set up as a business of some sort which all the owners would have a vote on. Maybe it’ll be a motel. Maybe a wedding venue. Maybe business functions or tours. Maybe a Maccas.
I instantly saw the potential, so I jumped in and bought one share, and now my Queen her castle.
Wow-factor. Romantic. Cheap. The perfect chivalrous Christmas trifecta.
Or so I thought until I told Tracey about my very French and very romantic gift, firstly, in the hope it might encourage her to lower her drawbridge and let me penetrate her inner fortress in the lead up to Christmas Day, but secondly, because there’s no way she wasn’t going to notice $100 leaving the account.
“Does this mean a holiday to France is tax deductible now?” she asked eagerly, throwing frog spawn in the moat. “We should go and check it out.”
Damn. I hadn’t considered that.
Still, now we legitimately have a castle – in France, for real – I see no reason we can’t all have our fairytale ending and live happily ever after.
Because of all the sex.
Raising a family on little more than laughs
This post is not in any way sponsored.
But this https://wp.me/p35zyV-6Ss is. Thank you for supporting our family by checking it out 🙂