My pretend husband

The groundskeeper at my apartment complex is this creepy middle-aged eastern European who I refer to as Vlad. I don't know his real name, but I feel that Vlad is quite fitting.

He is possibly the worst groundskeeper that has ever been employed in the vast history of keeping grounds. One day he was scooting around in his little golf cart and I stopped him to tell him I just walked past a lot of broken glass in one of the common areas. He informed me that picking up glass was not his job and scooted away. So I called the office on my cell phone and tell them. He's back five minutes later to clean it up. He didn't look happy with me.

Vlad also gets annoyed when Pat, Julie and I use the fitness center. He likes to hide in there and watch TV. When we come in, he pretends he was checking something - once he actually pulled the fire extinguisher off the wall and "examined" it - and then he leaves. He has been known to also follow Julie around the local ACME.

Today I came out of my apartment to see him standing next to the mailboxes and hanging a sign that the swimming pools are about to open. I seriously didn't want this weirdo to know what apartment was mine, but he saw me before I could hop back in the door.

So what do I do?

I look back into the apartment and state the following: "I'm just taking the dog out, honey."

I tell Julie about this as we're walking to the fitness center and we decide my pretend husband is named Fritz. He was on the German Olympic team for bodybuilding, but was suspended for steroid use. Now he sits at home polishing his gun collection and defending the women in my building from crazies. Oh, Fritz...I just love you.

It's official. I have cracked.