I’ve always told my mate that I didn’t care if we were never rich; I prefer a plain, ordinary kind of lifestyle where I put my own dishes in the sink and do my own laundry.
He’s a smart guy. You’d think he would be happy to have a spouse with such low financial demands. But apparently not, because as a birthday present he took me to Fearrington Village to see how the other half lives. We spent a night in a plush, high-ceilinged suite that had its own little benches and fountain out front, and a jacuzzi bathtub big enough for both of us. We dined in a restaurant so fancy that the meals came in courses and the waiter seemed to feel that bringing them to us was the most delightful thing he’d ever done. There was a by-God French wine steward. There was a lady whose only job appeared to be making sure everyone’s water glass was full. When we got back to our rooms, the bed had been turned down. And yes, they left chocolates on our pillows.
I could get used to this sort of thing.
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