25/52: Fantasy

I have the most scandalous fantasy.

No, not really.  But I do find myself constantly fantasizing about living in the most expensive houses in our areas.  Every Tuesday, when I head to Bible study, I pass beautiful homes in the most fabulously cute neighborhood I’ve seen since moving to Columbus.

And in the last year, there have been people working on the inside and outside of a specific old house down the road.  I think it’s technically being flipped, but I wouldn’t dare part with it.

And, in a perfect fantasy, I live there.  And cook in one of its two kitchens.  And take turns using its six or so bathrooms.  And slide across the smooth wood floors in my socks with my perfectly mannered children.  My husband comes home from a fantastically easy day at work to a meal made by our fantastically skilled chef, who lives in the guest quarters and parks in the farthest away of the three attached garages.  And the landscapers come every day to keep my grass from growing the slightest bit too much.  And there’s room for everything.  And my kids’ friends want nothing more than to come to our house because it is so warm, welcoming, and huge.  No doubt they’d never leave without experiencing the love of God.  It’s the perfect fantasy.

Wait, did I just say that I cook AND have a hired chef?  I should think through this more thoroughly.

Did I mention it is $1.8 million?  Yeah, I looked it up online; that’s how I know about the excessive bathrooms and attached nanny quarters.  And three garages.  And spacious rooms.  Man, my Christmas tree would look fantastic in that place.

Never gonna happen.

But I snapped a fantastical picture of it, today.

I know I’d look fantastic driving up into this rounded drive way (have I ever mentioned that this type of driveway is my ideal driveway!? Cuz it is!) in my Lexus or Saab.

Only dreaming,


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