Superman

An afterthought on our washing machine's status...

Yesterday, I finally broke down and hand-washed five buckets full of clothes, sheets, etc. There was no alternative. I'm not complaining, mind you. It's what I was expecting to do for every wash. No, the reason this is noteworthy stems from our landlord's response to the death and destruction of our machine:

Superman, as my roommates have lovingly** dubbed him, has decided we are lying about the irreparable damage done and refuses to replace it until he is able to assess it personally. As he is on holiday until who knows when and I was down to ZERO clean clothes options, I was forced to finally hike my skirt up (and tuck it in) while I squatted over the buckets. At least I get to count the scrubbing as my second workout this week! You should see the size of my guns now!
Prepped ahead of time by my roommates, Superman's assumption that we were lying to him did not come as a surprise. Normally, I would have been indignant. In his case, I just had to nod and say "that sounds about right."

Apparently, the girls had requested some help in eradicating the colony of cockroaches that had settled comfortably into the kitchen's cupboards (where they still remain-I see at least 4 every time I enter the kitchen). Despite the presence of a large cockroach scuttling across the floor in front of him, Superman insisted there were no cockroaches. Similarly, he was convinced they had lied about being volunteers until he was informed by one of our co-workers that they, in fact, were NOT being paid for their work. Oh, Superman...how far the mighty have fallen.

**The nickname sounds fairly close to his "good name," as they say here. I personally think he earned this nickname out of sheer irony.

**Also, my roommates asked me to point out the inaccuracies in the image above: apparently, one should add a large, rotund belly, rather than bulging pecks; and a flapping comb-over on his head, rather than a red cape off his back...