As a result of her research into our respective family trees, my SO recently discovered two unpalatable details, like so.
(1) One of her ancestors was a lady of the aristocracy who married beneath her station and was ostracised by her family as a consequence.
(2) I am descended from peasant stock.
These revelations have caused a seismic shift in the balance of domestic power. She has taken to lying around on a chaise longue all day reading books about the Royal Family and embroidering a coat of arms on her underwear. I have to make cups of tea when she rings the bell. She writes letters to parish councils indicating her availability to open village fêtes. In so doing, she tells them I am available to sit in the stocks and allow the crowd to throw wet sponges at my head. I now do all the driving of our compact hatchback while she sits in the back and waves at people in the street.
It goes on.
There is only so much oppression a peasant can take, so I’ve decided to foment unrest among the local proletariat and free myself from her aristocratic subjugation. As I see it, I have three options open to me.
(1) Rent a tumbril for the day and have her carted along the A436 to the municipal guillotine.
(2) Send her into exile across the Oxfordshire border where she can hire some other lackey to obey her every whim.
(3) Equip her with cold weather clothing and send her to the Manchester Gulag, where she can mine salt all day on a diet of black bread and beetroot.
What would you do?