We go through the guarded barrier and enter, double big black gates. The home looks like that house from that old American television series called "Dallas". I bound up the steps, like a puppy and enter the big, double doors. I sit down and undo my black winter boots, it takes me forever to undo all the laces, I pray my feet don't smell in the presence of royalty. Two stone tigers, watch me with suspicion, while I wait, to meet the mother. She arrives and is very attractive, without looking cheap. With a nervous wet hand, I shake her hand and my new students hand and remove my coat. The mother shows me up a big, sweeping marble stairs to the the landing area, I can see two women looking down at me, over the stair handrail. We enter a playroom with red carpet, it has many toys and teddy bears sit expressionless, on a sofa, in the corner of the playroom. I meet the two nannies and shake their hands. I feel nervous, as Russian nannies can be very dangerous (see Best Posts). I decide to be friendly but not too friendly to them. These nannies exude jealousy from every pore. They protect their adopted children, with very sharp claws. They have to, they are protecting a way of life that they have got used to living. My time at this new family will be decided by these women, as will my sanity.
The mother, shows me out of the playroom and into a long corridor. It has cupboards down the length and a large bathroom. The bathroom, is the size of my bedroom in my Moscow flat. The kids playroom, bedroom and bathroom are the size of a European, one bedroom flat. At the end of the corridor, is the boys bedroom. We enter and I draw pictures at the table with the kid, while the mother asks me questions about myself. She is charming and beautiful. She is assessing me and is absolutely right to do so, I would do the same for my own children. The child does not speak any English. He says he is thirsty, so we go back down the marble stairs to the vast kitchen. There is a woman cooking and she is wearing some kind of uniform, she checks me out and looks at me from over the top of her glasses. The kid drinks a juice and the mother asks me if I want a drink? I ask for a water, she asks me if I want ice, I look through the kitchen window and see ice and snow outside and say "no thank you". We drink in silence, then go out into the hallway. I discreetly look around me, like a kid in a toy shop, checking out the decor, I am like a gay fashion expert, when it comes to other peoples homes and always have an opinion. Big chandeliers, hang from mirrored ceilings in every room and there is a marble fire place, big enough to fit a car in. The house looks like a movie set and feels cold and functional. The decor looks as if it has been borrowed from Paramount pictures, although I am sure everything is expensive, it looks rather cheap.
With a click of my stilettos, we go back upstairs and continue our lesson. We sit on the red thick carpet and play with cars, I can't believe I am paid to do this. I feel nervous, as the mother is with us. I have been clenching my buttocks, for over an hour now and regret eating those figs at lunch time. Gas is building up and is about to blow. My stomach hurts. I ask the mother where the toilet is? She shows me to the "guest toilet". It is as big as my living room. The toilet is marbled and has thick, expensive looking wallpaper on the walls. There is one of those old fashioned toilets, that looks Victorian and very grand. I wait for the mother to be a safe distance away from the toilet door. I drop my trousers (pants) and sit down, I reach round and flush the toilet, to drown out my fart noise, I don't want it to echo around the house and shake the crystal chandeliers off the ceiling. It works and the gas relief is heaven. I make my deposit and reach for the toilet paper. The toilet paper, is thick and velvet to touch. It is like touching your bottom with angles wings and really soft. I finish and flush, the paper does not go away, I flush again and the toilet fills up with water to the top. I begin to sweat and panic. I put the lid down on the crime and wash my hands in the marble sink. I spray the room with an expensive looking toilet spray, shut the door and rejoin them in the playroom.
Our time is soon up. I thank her and leave the house. As the car pulls away and drives through the dark forest, back to metro station X, I pray that my crime goes unnoticed and that the toilet unblocks itself. They have an army of staff to deal with blocked toilets but its still embarrassing.
Shit happens but when you least need it dear reader. Lesson to self, number 350: Go easy on the toilet paper and don't eat figs when visiting other peoples homes. If you like this blog, click "join this site".
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