Lost in Transliteration handmade collage

Let me preface my story by admitting that my comprehension of the french language is very limited.

I was in Toulouse on a buying excursion and had found a wonderful mid-century desk just right for my office. The woman selling the piece told me that the desk had been of great importance to either a large pear or her grandfather, who was either a beloved local prestidigitator or an amorous, prestigious agitator. Whether grand pére ou grand poire he/it was irrefutably mort. All of which meant that she found herself with a desk she didn't need or want. Even with the current unfavorable exchange rate, I picked it up for a song and took it with me back to the hotel.

Back in the room, I moved the desk before the french doors that opened onto a magnificent view of the Garonne, the river that runs through Toulouse. I stepped back to admire it and then beyond all comprehension, it rose off the floor and drifted out the window. I was stunned, not least because I had just paid good money for it. I ran downstairs to the lobby and found the proprietor who I struggled to make understand the situation. I have a hard enough time explaining ordinary events in the french language, let alone paranormal ones. Employing a mix of english and french, I thought I was making myself clear, but the harder I tried the more bewildered he became. Finally, I grabbed his wrist and pulled him to the hotel entrance to look out over the river where I had last seen my desk. We stepped out of the building and crossed the street, scanning the entire area, but not a single piece of furniture was to be seen. Somehow in the time it took me to try to make my predicament known, the desk had sailed out of sight. Talk about buyer's remorse. Oh well, c'est life.