Washed in Sin

For the first time since August, I take my landlord up on the laundry agreement. Eight dollars. Only I ask if he'll take eleven because I don't have detergent and I don't have the car. He acquiesces. I'm nodding at the run-down of laundry room pitfalls when he says, "And watch this step outside here. It's not a normal step. I know you're a pretty athletic person, but watch out with the rain and everything." Hmmm. And how would he know of my abilities? Unless, since my bedroom is directly beneath his, he has heard my extracirriculars and deduced stamina from duration, taken what flexibility must sound like for athleticism. Fan. Taaaaaaaaaastic.

(I could also be paranoid and overly self conscious, but I can hear him cough, so...)