Mrs. Martin & Mr. Blohm – Episode 14: If you want to go fast, go alone. If you want to go far, go together.

 The Man in the White Bathrobe with the lost Key

Regina was still very irritated. What on earth was this man doing on a crowded Sierichstraße at eleven o’clock at night, in the middle of a freezing February, barefoot, wearing a white bathrobe and clutching a 7-iron in his hand? It was a strange sight — and yet, despite herself, Regina had to admit that Mr. Blohm looked oddly attractive in that white bathrobe. She had always had a soft spot for white bathrobes; in her view, they made even the most ordinary man look somehow handsome and sexy.

She sized him up from head to toe. Mr. Blohm cleared his throat.

Good evening, Mrs. Martin,” he said calmly — as if it were the most normal thing in the world to stand there on a cold, stormy February night, barefoot, holding a golf club, and dressed in a white bathrobe.

“Good evening, Mr. Blohm. Wow — you are full of surprises,” Regina replied.

“Didn’t you get my text?” Mr. Blohm asked. “I had an emergency earlier and I sent you Mrs Martin a message. Didn’t you receive it?”

Regina looked puzzled. What emergency she thought? Did he have a karaoke machine in his silver Mercedes again?

“I had my cell phone turned off Mr Blohm,” she said. She had been avoiding Paul’s calls and messages; she didn’t want to talk to him anymore. Her move-out date was set for March 25, 2005, and there was nothing left to discuss — the relationship was over.

“Do you have a karaoke machine in your car again Mr Blohm?” she asked.

Mr. Blohm laughed. “No — this time it was something else.”

Regina thought to herself, no karaoke machine this time — so what else could make a man wander around in the middle of the night wearing a white bathrobe and no shoes?

Mr Blohm explained, breathlessly and a little embarrassed, how the evening had unfolded.

“Earlier today I was at the supermarket, and as you know, there’s no elevator in our building. I had to carry many heavy bags up from my car to my apartment. After unpacking everything, I looked for my car key — and it was gone.”

“I looked everywhere,” he said. “I even used a flashlight. It was already dark outside, and I couldn’t find the key on the street. So I took my spare key and drove the car into your parking space — it was safer than leaving it on the street. Then I sent you a text to ask if you could park behind my car so no one could steal it. Anyone who found a key could press the button and drive away with the car — and it’s a company car. There are so many dealers who take cars east; I wanted to avoid that.”

He mimed pacing.
“I couldn’t rest. I was running back and forth through my apartment like a tiger in a cage, constantly looking down through the windows. In between, I took a quick shower — that’s why I’m still in my bathrobe. There was no time to get dressed properly when I saw a dark car speeding around the corner,” he continued, lowering his voice dramatically. “I thought it was a gang coming to steal my car — they must have found the key. I grabbed my 7-iron and ran down the stairs. I nearly fell; I was ready to defend my car with the golf club — that was the plan. And then I realized it was only you, Mrs. Martin. But you were driving so fast, so determined, that I was convinced the gang had come for my car.”

Regina stared at him, equal parts amused and exasperated. The whole story was ridiculous —She let out a short laugh, shaking her head. In that absurd, cold moment on Sierichstraße, the city felt smaller, and whatever rules governed decency and decorum seemed to have been politely set aside for the sake of human folly.

Regina replied briefly, with a teasing smile.
“Mr. Blohm, interesting story. I’m impressed — and I must say, that white bathrobe looks very good on you.”

Mr. Blohm smiled too.

Regina suddenly noticed a few chest hairs peeking out from the robe — something she secretly likes a lot.

The First Prosecco Connection

Mr. Blohm looked at her.
“What do you think Mrs Martin about a glass of Prosecco in my apartment now?”

Regina hesitated for only a moment, but then she thought, why not? Curiosity had won — who was this man, Mr. Blohm? And the white bathrobe had certainly made an impression.

“Yes, with pleasure,” she said, “but only if you keep your white bathrobe on.”

Mr. Blohm laughed. “Please just park your car behind my car, so it’s safe.”

“Of course,” said Mrs. Martin. “I’ll just unload my luggage, bring it to my studio, and then I’ll come upstairs to your apartment Mr Blohm.”

“Wonderful,” said Mr. Blohm. “I’ll wait for you.”

About ten minutes later, Mrs. Martin walked up the stairs to the third floor. She rang the bell.

When the door opened, she froze — and felt a wave of disappointment. Mr. Blohm was no longer wearing the white bathrobe.

Instead, he stood there barefoot, wearing jeans and a striped shirt. He looked neat — but nowhere near as attractive as he had in the white bathrobe. Such a pity, Regina thought. Who knows where the evening might have led if Mr. Blohm had still been wearing that bathrobe?

“Mrs. Martin,” he said, smiling gently, “it’s your first time in my apartment. I couldn’t possibly welcome you wearing a bathrobe — I’m a gentleman.”

Regina thought silently, What kind of conservative man is this? Or is this some sort of northern sense of propriety?
An Italian would have definitely kept the bathrobe on, she thought.

But she didn’t care. Her curiosity was stronger. She stepped inside and looked around. The two-bedroom apartment was beautifully styled — vintage furniture mixed with modern details, soft lighting, warm tones. It felt elegant yet comfortable. Regina was impressed. That was rare.

Mr. Blohm began to speak.
“I have a wonderful Prosecco from Friuli… or would you prefer a red wine?”

Regina couldn’t believe it. A Prosecco from Friuli? It was rare for anyone to even mention the region where a Prosecco came from. Her curiosity grew immediately.

“Which Prosecco do you have, Mr. Blohm?” she asked.

He disappeared into the kitchen, which was slightly separated from the living and dining area. While he was gone, Regina looked around the room, drawn to a large shelf filled with countless picture frames. She was surprised by how many there were — memories everywhere.

When Mr. Blohm returned, bottle in hand, Regina’s eyes widened. She couldn’t believe it — it was her absolute favorite Prosecco, one that was almost impossible to find in Germany.

“This is the best Prosecco I know!” Regina exclaimed. “How do you know it, Mr. Blohm?”

He smiled with pride.
“I discovered it on the island of Sylt and now get it here in Hamburg through a dealer — when it’s available. Most of the time, it’s sold out.”

Yes, I also discovered this Prosecco on the island of Sylt, and I also have a hard time getting this particular one,” she said.

Suddenly, soft music began to play in the background. The atmosphere changed — warm, intimate.

“That’s my favorite singer, Luis Miguel from Mexico,” said Mr. Blohm.

Regina immediately recognized the Latin rhythm — not new to her, since she knew this style from Miami, even if she didn’t know the artist.

Mr. Blohm turned the volume up slightly.

“Very nice music,” Regina said softly. “I do like it.”

“I’m glad you do,” said Mr. Blohm. “And I see you’re interested in my pictures.”

By now, he had opened the bottle and poured two glasses. They clinked glasses — cheers — and Mr. Blohm began to tell the stories behind each photo.

Mr. Blohm pointed at the photographs one by one.

“On that picture, you see my oldest sister. And here — that’s her with her husband and their son. This is my mother, Angela; she’s now eighty-three years old. And this was my father — he has already passed away. I also have two other older sisters, but I don’t have any pictures of them, because our relationship isn’t very good.

And here,” he continued, “are my friends. This is Jobst, he’s married and has two daughters. This is my friend Ricki — he’s also married and has two daughters. And that’s my friend Christian —and he has three children.”

Mr. Blohm went on and on, and on.

Meanwhile, Regina sipped her favorite Prosecco and thought silently: Three older sisters… so he was raised like a prince. Almost exactly like Paul her boyfriend, who had also grown up surrounded by older sisters — spoiled, adored, and used to being the center of attention.

Regina began to see unpleasant parallels. Mr. Blohm, just like Paul, seemed completely absorbed in himself and his stories — about his family, his friends, his city, his life.

She realized that he hadn’t asked her a single question about herself. Not one.

Raised like a prince, she thought again, the whole world spinning around him — and not a hint of genuine interest in me.

After an hour, Regina decided it was time to leave. She had seen and heard enough.

The Staircase Goodbye Scene

She couldn’t help wondering, If he had kept the white bathrobe on… would things have turned out differently?

But she was glad she had realized in time that this man was completely absorbed in himself. Even though he liked the same Prosecco she did, whatever spark had flickered earlier had now vanished like a soap bubble — puff — gone. Just as she had sensed from the beginning: this man was not for her.

“Mr. Blohm,” she said politely, “it’s getting late. I should go.”

“It was nice to meet you in person and learn more about you,” he replied.

Regina smiled faintly. Actually, it was the other way around, she thought. You didn’t learn anything about me — because you never asked.

Mr. Blohm then said,
“When can I get in touch with you tomorrow to get my car out of your parking spot? Maybe I’ll be lucky and find my key in daylight.”

Regina suddenly remembered that she had blocked his car and would need to move hers in the morning to let Mr. Blohm out. Not so easy to get rid of this neighbor, she thought. She was also planning to drive to Denmark for the weekend to visit her friend Evelyn, who was on vacation there.

She had never been to Denmark before — Munich had always drawn her south, toward Italy, Switzerland, and Austria — but now, the north called.

“I’ll leave for Denmark tomorrow in the late afternoon,” Regina said. “Call me around twelve Mr Blohm, because I’m not a morning person.”

Mr. Blohm smiled. “Wonderful — neither am I. I’ll call you at noon then. I’m a late bird too.”

Regina extended her hand. “Thank you for the excellent Prosecco. Good night, Mr. Blohm.”

And with that, she left — the faint sound of Luis Miguel still playing in the background, while Mr. Blohm remained standing in the door, watching her go. Regina had just stepped down a few stairs when suddenly he called after her.  “Mrs. Martin, it was such a nice evening — why don’t you call me Claus from now on?”

Regina turned around and looked up the stairs, unable to believe what she was hearing. Now? she thought. Now, when I’m down here and he’s up there? He had a whole hour to say that in his apartment — and now he chooses to do it from the top of the staircase?

It felt wrong. The situation wasn’t on equal ground. Literally.

Regina:
“Mr. Blohm, I don’t think this is the right place or the right moment for that. I’m down here, and you’re up there. Let’s just leave it as it is.”

She turned around and continued down the stairs to leave.

Mr. Blohm looked slightly puzzled — but somehow impressed too.

Mr. Blohm:
“We still have time, Mrs. Martin, to get there. I wish you a good night.”

Late Night Prosecco Reflection

As she walked away, Regina spoke quietly to herself. Bathrobe or not — that was just a moment, nothing more. And besides, he’s not my type: too pale, bald-headed, and definitely not Italian.

It was obvious to her that Mr. Blohm was hoping for a one-night stand — something she had no interest in. To make it worse, he thought Hamburg was the most beautiful city in the world, owned a karaoke machine, had lost his car key, and clearly had no sense of Munich fashion chic.

Still, she gave him one small credit: he had excellent taste in Prosecco. And the fact that he was divorced — well, at least that was better than never having been married at all at the age of forty-five. In Regina’s opinion, a divorced man was better than one who had never been married — at least he had learned something from his first attempt at marriage and would probably do better the second time. That was her belief.

Back in her studio, Regina turned on her phone to check for missed calls and messages. She wanted to call her best gay friend, Stephan, to tell him about the bizarre scene — Mr. Blohm standing barefoot on Sierichstraße in the middle of the night, dressed only in a white bathrobe and holding a golf club — and hear what Stephan would say about it.

Unfortunately, Stephan didn’t answer; it was already well past midnight.

Regina saw five missed calls from Paul and one text message:
“Regina, please call me back.”

And one more from Mr. Blohm:
“I have a new emergency case, Mrs. Martin. Could you please park your car behind mine so it’s blocked? I parked my car again in your parking lot. Thanks in advance and let me know ASAP.”

When Regina read the message, she couldn’t help but laugh. What a strange man, this Mr. Blohm. Yet, she thought, if I hadn’t turned off my phone, I might have missed the whole bathrobe spectacle. Sometimes it’s good not to be reachable.

That night, Regina lay awake for a while, thinking about her plan for tomorrow.

Tomorrow, I’ll let Mr. Blohm take his car from my parking spot — and that’s it. He can deal with his keys and his car. I’m not a parking lot officer. Helping neighbors is fine, but enough is enough.

With that, she finally fell asleep — content, after all, she had enjoyed her favorite Prosecco. She still found it almost unbelievable that Mr. Blohm shared the exact same taste when it came to bubbles.

And now, we hope you too have a glass of Mr or Mrs SYLTBAR in your hand while enjoying our Mrs Martin and Mr Blohm story.

Thank you for all your wonderful personal emails and kind comments — they encourage us to keep going.

✨ Episode 15 is already in the making.