MWL Submission: The robe and the junk

This is our first ‘official’ MWL submission!

“When I first moved to Cranbrook, my landlord would do small morning yard tasks in his robe. And yes, in the right wind, his junk would proudly flap in the breeze. Fortunately, I have no photos, only the seared visuals in my mind.” Submitted by MR

The End. A story like that needs closure. Thanks MR, that was pleasantly disturbing and another thank you for not having pictures.

MR’s title makes me think of The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe;
I certainly hope a story for children doesn’t resemble any part of this.

Hmmm, it’s beginning to seem like the robe and junk exposing combo might be a bit of weird landlord theme.  Oh why god, why? *dramatically yelled towards the sky, fists clenched while dropping to my knees*

Mornings are half off!

One early morning, as I left my apartment and walked into the hallway, my landlord was standing there wearing a dark green terry-cloth robe.

I think we can all agree that a landlord wearing his robe in the hallway is inappropriate.  What about wearing a robe that barely covers his junk? Did I mention he wasn’t wearing pants? Oh, I didn’t? He wasn’t wearing pants.
(please, take my eyes out)

It was difficult to know where to look. He’s an imposing 6’4″, balding and heavy-set; imagine a child from Children of the Corn grown up. I held eye contact with him for a brief moment and fought the urge to look below the hemline of his mini-robe at the blurry car accident of white legs and dingy white socks my peripheral vision so effectively took in.

He had a piece of paper in his hand and it appeared he was about to slide it under someone’s door.  I stayed calm because I knew it was very important I got out of there before he bent over and finished what he came there to do.

Somehow, I managed to control my gag reflex and held back the retching until I made it into the stairwell. I so badly wanted to jump the flights of stairs in giant leaps but was worried the noise I’d make while landing would summon him. I can’t begin to imagine the damage looking up at him from that angle would do to my psyche. (why am I reliving this?)

As I forced myself to walk slowly down the stairs, I used a hybrid of Ujjayi and Pilates breathing to keep myself from blacking out. I made it out to my Jeep, got in and may have laid a 5o foot long patch of rubber but can’t be sure as that’s where my memory gets murky. I hate mornings.