The advert had appeared week after week.
Curiosity turned into a dying need to view it.
It wasn’t the pool or pool table.
Or the fully equipped gym, sauna and AV room.
Or the shady grown garden of who knows how many acres now.
It was the 25,000 freaking holy smokes square feet of Michelin class kitchen that got my blood pumping.
What would it be?
or the to die for Monogram?
If so? What finish?
On wall panel?
Dark wood? Country? Glass? Industrial?
I was restless. Until and unless I view it, I wasn’t going to stop thinking about it.
But what if I can’t forget it after viewing it?
Well, the price tag would have taken care of that.
At fifteen.point.five million there was no way I could even come close to owning it.
And what the heck do I do with the gardens? Have some cattle stock to graze on the grass?
Or the 30 feet wall paneled sea water aquarium? Acquire a mermaid?
Or the underground garage that fits 20 cars? Skate?
Anyways, after a massive interrogation with a few days lapse – which I am sure some background check was performed to see if I had any criminal record (save for some traffic offenses) – an appointment was finally set for viewing.
I was nervous.
I was obsessing about what to wear!!!
I am seeing a kitchen … not dating a potential life partner.
No photos were permitted.
The grounds were in bad need of a good manicurist-cum-botanist.
And had it not been for the Michelin kitchen that awaits me, I would have bolted the moment the musty whiff of air hit me as the main doors creaked opened; disappointed that a bio-hazard suit was not provided for.
The equipment and kitchen layout was definitely to die for, but I couldn’t care less about the floor to ceiling elaborate paneling in dark wood stain; despite the ray of lights penetrating the floor to ceiling elaborate glass doors and windows reminding me some what strangely of Tea with Mussolini, of which I assure you despite vague memories of it, have almost nothing in common.
Though honestly, who am I kidding.
Stamp duties for fifteen.point.five million is in itself mind boggling!
So back to reality and my original plan/ dream:
- Work shit load long hours.
- Get better remuneration.
- Stop buying shaped animal hides (there goes the red alligator Bottega handbag I’ve been wishing for).
- Buy a piece of land in the boondocks.
- Hire my “khor khor” the world’s best architect (in my books at least) to design my home with mr. Monogram, the love of my life, being right at the heart of the entire structure!
- Find a viable alternative of sustenance that allows me to stay in the boondocks.
So far, the success rate is 33.33% with 1. and 5. done/ doing.
The trick is to balance 1., 2. and 6.!
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|a random gift from my “khor khor” the world’s best architect (in my books at least)|