Sharing A Toilet In Paris

One a recent trip to Paris, my wife an I were having dinner one evening in the Latin Quarter at a small family-owned restaurant near the Sorbonne.  The restaurant was filled with students, incredibly handsome young men and stunning beautiful young women.

After finishing off my share of a bottle of wine, I had to pee.

The toilet was down in the cellar, accessible via a circular iron staircase.  There was only one toilet down there.  Unisex.  Ah, I thought, so very French.

 I went inside and saw a porcelain commode and a hole in the floor.  I had spent many years in the Orient where a hole in the floor was the only option.  I decided to give the hole a shot for old times sake.  I unzipped and started to pee.

Suddenly, the door behind me, which had no lock, opened.  An attractive young French woman walked in.

She blithely pulled down her panties, sat down on the commode, and she started to pee.  All the while speaking to me in French, which I don’t understand.

 When I had finished sharing our moment, I zipped up and hastily went back upstairs to my table.

A few moments after I sat down, my toilet companion also came upstairs.

As she passed by my table, she knocked on the tabletop with her knuckles, smiled, said something to me in French, and blew me a kiss.

My wife’s reaction was, understandably, “What was that all about?”

I told her the story.  I said I didn’t know what that young woman said to me as she passed by, but I suspected it was “Monsieur you have the biggest baguette I have ever seen.”

 

 

My wife, who does speak French, laughed and said, “No what she actually said was ‘don’t forget to return the breadstick you took from the glass on the bar.’”

 

Gotta love Paris!