The latest from the home improvement zone.

My building manager and his little buddy are filling in paint holes in our paint job so my living room is covered in drop cloths and plastic. I am currently blogging from and undisclosed location in my living room under a sheet.
I think my building managers little buddy is stealing underwear. I can't elaborate at this time.
No bras stolen. No money stolen...as far as I can tell.
Monday maybe I'll call into work and stay under my bed all day waiting...waiting.
Maybe I will. Maybe I won't. I guess you'll just have to see if you feel lucky "little buddy".
The wife and I are thinking about leaving out more "bait" underwear. (More bait under where? More bait under there.) Then I'll hide my video camera and leave it recording for six hours.
I need surveillance equipment.
Today I got home and "Little Buddy" wasn't there. But shortly after I arrived he began trying to get in. I guess he only had the key to the doorknob and I had the deadbolt locked. When I opened the door, he said, "Oh. Sorry." and then he put down his bucket, his ladder, his extendable roller in the hall and walked off. He didn't come back for like twenty minutes. And I don't know what he did when he got here. I fell asleep in my bedroom, guarding panties. And when I woke up he was gone and there was no change in our living room.
Was he waiting for me to leave again? Was he surprised and disappointed to see me home so soon? How do I address this? "(Building Manager) Mike, have you ever heard any complaints about your little buddy? Does his wife seem to have trouble keeping underwear? Does she gamble them away? Does he cross-dress for crack? Because I think he's stolen some underwear. He's been in the apartment for two days and it still looks the same. It's just we're now a little lighter in the underwear department."
My neck and back hurt now because I'm typing under a sheet from on the floor. I hear sirens outside.
Signing off.