(NSFW... maybe?)
A few months ago, my husband had some work in France. We have a baby and live in a small village where I currently have no car. Knowing his work would keep him away for two weeks, we decided to take a trip together and make some fun out of the extended time away.
For the first 10 days, we had found a nice apartment in the center of the city but needed to move to a second apartment for the last three days. You can imagine, 14 days with a small baby requires lots of items. Clothing, jackets, diapers, toys, burp cloths, food, in addition to all our normal items. Upon arriving to our second apartment, my husband is thrilled to find out that the new rental is in the middle of downtown with no parking, up four flights of an exterior staircase in the middle of a snowy winter season. I know how to pick 'em ๐๐
Rushing to get out of our first location by 11am check out meant gathering items and throwing them in the car - organization was not my highest priority. So arriving to our new abode, we were left with no option but to bring 14 days worth of items upstairs instead of a much more ideal single organized bag. Se la vie.
After the haul of 8 or so bags, sweaty and exhausted was the mode. Upon walking into the new home though, all my oblivious planning became irrelevant. We were in a beautiful penthouse renovated cathedral apartment with exposed wooden beams and a gorgeous kitchen with massive matte black island that looked like something you just want to lay naked on - and I intended to.
My husband suggested that we enjoy the beautiful apartment and cook dinner, rather than go out. Recovering from the workout, I immediately agreed and suggested he run to the store and park the car while I unpack. Of course, I had a much more x-rated surprise in store for my him after hauling our things up to the penthouse suite than simply unpacking and organizing our things.
After he left, I fed the baby and put him in the crib and quickly grabbed a very sexy black latex leather style thong onesie and jumped in the shower. I thoroughly enjoyed a long shower, preparing myself for what I hoped would be an evening for us both to enjoy.
The shower was one of those that you step into without a door, just a ledge off the side in the back, so at no point in my 15 minute shower did I notice that the drain didn't work and the water was simply pouring off the back of the shower...into the bathroom... and into the hall of the apartment.
I finished my shower and turned around to see... the flood. I quickly ran to the kitchen to call my husband and tell him to call the landlord. Just as we hung up, the baby woke up screaming. The only clothing I had accessible was the lingerie which I quickly began to put on as I noted the water continuing to travel from the hallway to the kitchen. Lingerie bottom half on, I grabbed my child as I heard a knock at the front door.
Husband! Perfect!
Except.... he didn't come in. I realized he might not have brought the keys with him, but I'm topless holding a crying baby with a black latex thong suit half zipped in the middle of a flooded hall - he could wait a moment.
And just then, the door opened. I turned around to find a 40-something French man entering the apartment. A topless Dominatrix holding a baby in a flood staring him straight down the hallway. I'm not sure who was more shocked or uncomfortable in the moment (I'll allow you as the reader to make your own determination).
I naturally assumed this man was the Landlord and my husband had called him after we spoke. So I quickly covered my top and invited this man in to assess the damage. In broken French we chatted and he said he would go downstairs for a mop and towels. Oh, how lovely and convenient I thought, that the landlord lives downstairs!
Imagine my surprise when my husband arrived home shortly after to a man in the apartment cleaning and he asks me, "Who is this?" Turns out this man lives downstairs, but has no responsibility for the flood aside from the water pouring down his living room walls and a wife he expected to arrive home soon. Attempting to avoid a collision with his beloved, he was scrambling to clean the mess - as I stood by him watching, like some weird, well, Dominatrix porno script.
My husband, fluent in French, finally got the story out of the (by this point, stressed but somewhat amused) neighbor. Turns out, this was not the first time the lower apartment had flooded (and that the actual landlord seemed to enjoy galavanting around Paris instead of taking care of his rental).
The evening ended with a bottle of red wine, and an enthralling viewing of Lawrence of Arabia. You can wonder if we ended up making use of the sprawling black kitchen countertop in the sexy and luxurious kitchen.