It probably sounds better in French

Graham waved goodbye to the mailman and then rushed inside and up the stairs. It had arrived! It had finally, finally arrived! Ever since his wife Melinda had turned 39, she had been sulking around the house, overly conscious of the fact that she would shortly be turning 40 and thus entering "middle age". Graham, of course, thought she was absolutely insane: to him, she would always be that wiry 16-year old he had met on his first day at his new high school. Even as white-hot rage flashed in her eyes (following his customary attack of clumsiness and knocking all of her French books out of her arms), he thought she was the most perfect creature he had ever seen.

He had just known he'd have to do something to help lift her spirits - something bold, something romantic, something that would let her know exactly how much she still meant to him after all these years. Graham knew he wasn't the most suave or debonair of men, and so he had enlisted the help of Arnie, his best friend. Surely, Graham thought, surely Arnie would have an idea - Arnie was an ideas guy. He'd been to Vegas. He knew things.

Oh Arnie knew things all right. He had, without a word, pointed Graham to an online store, then left to go meet his latest squeeze at the corner bar. Graham barely noticed he'd left; he sat spellbound, numbly watching the images wash over him. Within moments, he was sure - everything here would be absolutely perfect for Melinda; he needed only to enter his credit card number.

Nobody knew romance like the Marquis de Sade

Hands shaking with anticipation of Melinda's inevitably delighted reaction, Graham tore open the cardboard shipping box and pulled out the delicately-wrapped package. Gift in hand, he tore down the stairs and ran into the darkened room in which his wife was watching her stories. She cocked her head slightly in recognition of his presence. "Pumpkin," Graham breathed, trying to contain his giddiness, "I have a gift for you."

"Huh." Melinda's eyes were still glued to the screen.

"Well, aren't you going to open it?" he asked, dangling the package in front of her face. She grabbed at in annoyance and started picking at it when the commercials came on. "Honey, I remember how much you loved studying French in high school, how much you wanted to go to the City of Lights, to Paris, France. Well today, Sugar, I brought a little of Paris, France to you!"

Melinda had gotten through the wrapping paper and was staring blankly at her gift.

"Sweetie, that there is an eye mask with the words of the Marquis de Sade on it," Graham said triumphantly. "He was French!"

What happened next was a blur, but when Graham came to, he had a black eye and the eye mask proclaiming the words of Sade, "Treat me like the whore that I know I am" shoved in his mouth. Melinda was nowhere to be found.