New Year’s Eve and a bathroom my bike and I can live in

I do not have any photos to prove New Year’s Eve happened, but it did. I have the wet bathing suit to prove it.

For New Year’s Eve Captain and I didn’t have any plans. The plan was to make dinner, have some drinks and celebrate being done moving. Maybe head outside to watch the fireworks. Maybe.

The day before New Year’s Eve, New Year’s Eve Eve, an email went out to everyone in our condo building. The guy on the top floor is having a party, feel free to stop by.

Sounds like a warm place to watch the fireworks. Captain and I are in. Maybe the penthouse guy will even agree to store my pink bike, as nice as it looks in our living-room. We take the elevator up a little after 11pm. The door is propped open. We follow stairs up toward the music. It is a legit party pad: floor to ceiling windows, long couches, fur throws, fireplace, candles, huge platters of food and a full bar. There’s definitely room for a bike.

I stand still while people take turns coming up to ask us what we do. After it’s established that we’re probably not useful for anyone’s career, we’re left in peace. Captain and I wander around. I find another beautiful room. It’s smaller but it also has long couches, floor to ceiling windows, and a toilet. This is a bathroom I could live in.

We return to the food island. The host tells us,

“It’s almost time to hit the hot tub for the fireworks!”


“Yeah, upstairs. Go put your suit on.”

I’m almost halfway out the door back to our place, when I have a moment of doubt. What if this is an elaborate hoax to laugh at me when I come back in my bathing suit and there’s no hot tub? Captain and I decide to investigate first.

Half-way up the stairs I see it. There is a huge rooftop deck with a steaming hot tub, the Boston skyline behind it. I turn to dash down the stairs for my swim suit. Captain declares,

“I’m going outside to check it out.”

“I’ve seen all I need to see. I’m going to put on my suit NOW.”

Captain decides to follow suit. 😉

Suits on we head back up, top up our drinks and sink into what feels like a dream. Across the hot tub from us is a woman who looks familiar. She’s chatting with some of the guys in the tub,

“I always go commando for work.”

“Go on.”

“We stand all the time now; I can’t have panty lines on camera. Viewers were complaining.”

Just then the fireworks start to explode. Captain and I are in a rooftop hot tub with a local news anchor who goes commando and several other people who I can’t remember what they “do.”

On our way out. The host says,

“Please come again.”

This sounds like an empty invitation, but I’m not going to let that stop me. I’ll be here next weekend, with my bathing suit already on.

I was looking for a funny picture of a bathroom with a bike in it and I found this toilet bike instead.
You’re welcome.

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