floods + compliments = troo lov

My apartment Super is Sudanese. Not Sudanese in the way that I am Dutch, cheap, and love Stroompwaffles. Rather, Mr. Hassan is Sudanese in the way that allows him to easily define the world "genocide" even though our government only manages to figure it out in hindsight. Which is probably why I've developed a slightly ridiculous affection for him making me want to feed him cookies, wrap him in a blanket, and apologize for our idiotic President all while pinching his cheeks. Every now and then I get notes shoved under my door full of phonetic spellings and have to fight the urge to reply in kind. Not that it would be a long note, probably something like "Yor the best. Thanks for beeng soo grate."

This past weekend we finally had a reason to meet for the very first time since my toilet decided that it no longer felt like flushing. What it did feel like doing was vomiting all over my floor on a regular basis. Not just a trickle, or a spatter. We're talking Noah's Ark type deluge. In true grownup fashion, my response to the problem (after I called Mr. Hassan) was to stare at the lake growing on my floor, go make myself a gin and tonic, and settle in for a Law + Order marathon. Apparently sometime between hours 1 through 4 of my television watching, the flooding caused the ceiling downstairs to collapse. True story.

I was nervous about finally meeting him. What if he didn't like me? What if he freaked out that I painted the cupboards wasabi green? What if I couldn't resist the urge to feed him an endless supply of Pillsbury Slice n' Bakes? Would he think that the flooding was caused by an excessive use of Charmin Ultra? Because I have used Scott's and really, I don't think I could go back without risking some very serious chaffing.

Leave it to Mr. Hassan to fix my toilet and calm my fears. He came and we flushed the toilet just so we could witness the flood together. After we realized that in spite of all appearances, animals weren't going to come marching out of my bathroom two-by-two, he smiled, took my hand and said "Hi, Miss Sarah. I, Hassan Seleh. Don't worry. We fix it. I call plumber and he come." Then, as if my heart wasn't already melted around my feet, he yelled "SOOO BOOOTIFUL! You single? Not married? You should be MARRIED".

I. Lov. Him.