I woke up this morning to a very persistent drumming noise, and my immediate reaction was that maybe I was in an Edgar Allen Poe story. So I lay in bed for the next ten minutes thinking of how exactly a body might have gotten under my carpet. Deciding that I wouldn't be fully equipped to deal with the situation until after my morning shower, I wandered into the bathroom and noticed that the drumming got significantly louder. Right. McMoose had broken the shower.
The woman who answered the phone at the management office assured me that someone would come by to fix it as soon as possible, which I interpreted to mean "sometime next week." Which is just fantastic because running water? Possibly my least favorite sound, ever. I'm the one who's always yelling at McMoose to shut off the faucet because otherwise, we're going to use up the world's entire stock of water AND WE WILL BE SINGLE-HANDEDLY RESPONSIBLE FOR THE DOWNFALL OF HUMANITY.
By some unbelievable stroke of luck, I ran into the maintenance guy while walking the dog, and he promised he'd be here tomorrow, at the latest. Feeling much better, I returned to my apartment, only to be greeted by the Black Cat, who hissed something that sounded suspiciously like "Nevermore."
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