Melody: Yes, this is quite a different turn from my other story. Enjoy (and review)

Drycleaning Spandex

He checked his rearview mirror for his reflection. Upon seeing it, he smoothed down his shiny brown hair and licked his straight pearly whites. The man took a deep breath as he straightened his neck-tie and his button up shirt over his muscular frame.

Opening the car door, the man tugged out his briefcase. He closed the door and locked it, and spun around. As he slowly walked up the driveway, he tried to calm his rattling hands. When he stopped at the front door of the house he paused to wipe the sweat of his fair-skinned forehead.

The doorbell rang as he pushed the button. He rocked back and forth from heel to toe as he heard the approaching footsteps from inside the house. A bony, wrinkled hand opened the creaking old door. Then man's brown eyes peered down his bumpy nose to the elderly woman of the house.

Putting on his best but still nervous smile, the man introduced himself as Jacob Rosenweig, pharmaceutical representative for Grayson Pharmaceuticals. Jacob calmed down a little when the lady seemed interested in his products; though he didn't stay calm long when his watch began flashing blue. Fresh beads of sweat formed on his forehead as he waited for the lady to finish examining the catalogue. She spent another few precious minutes searching for her purse. As soon as she handed him a check, he threw the box at her feet and raced back to his car.

Hastily he started the engine and ripped off his salesman outfit. As he sped down the road, Jacob's hand felt the passenger seat for his "other uniform." Jacob felt nothing but the soft suede of the seat and began searching more frantically for the grey and silver spandex. Coming to a stop at a red-light, Jacob looked straight at the seat, confirming his suspicions. The costume wasn't there.

He remembered then that the outfit was still at the drycleaners. Jacob raced down the asphalt as soon as the light turned green. Going to the drycleaners would delay him even more, and Jacob wasn't sure if the victim and her attacker could wait. His fingers tapped idly on the steering wheel as Jacob waited for the shop to come into view. It finally did and Jacob slowed down and turned off the busy street. Parking in the nearest space toward the entrance of the drycleaners, he jumped out of the car.

Jacob threw the doors open and dashed inside. The fluorescent lights stared back at him from above. Those lights reflected off the glasses of a mousy lady at the front desk in front of the myriad rows of shirts, skirts, dresses, and pants, wrapped in plastic and hung up on display.

As he caught his breath, Jacob tossed his claim ticket to the lady. She studied the name on it carefully and walked slowly passed several different rows before she came to the one she was looking for. With utmost care she plucked the costume from the rack and returned to the counter.

Her face was un-phased by the shiny fabric. "That'll be $10.95, Mr…."

"Rosenweig, Jacob Rosenweig." He responded as he hastily threw some cash on the counter, and rushed out the door.

The story lady shouted after him, "Wait! You forgot your receipt Mr. Rosenwieg!"

Jacob slammed the door of his car and hurriedly ripped off the plastic from his costume. He began to slip inside the costume, but struggled to pull it all the way over his body. On no…the man thought, the costume's shrunk! After a few more minutes of struggling, Jacob finally heaved the costume all the way over his frame, and started his engine.

The car sped down the road and Possumman, formerly Jacob Rosenweig, checked his in-car computer for specifics on the situation. Apparently, a girl on the opposite side of town was being attacked in her apartment by a…killer tv-dinner!? That was a new thing for Possumman to handle. At least he wouldn't have to fight off one of his arch enemies again, but did the girl really have to live on the other side of town? Possumman groaned at how much more time it would take to reach the apartment.

Finally, after what seemed to be an eternity spent in busy traffic, Possumman found the apartment building indicated on his computer. It was an older structure, made mostly of brick. Most people would still consider the apartment building to be beautiful and historic, but Possuman took one glance at the building and groaned. The building was several stories tall, with no elevator, and the victim's apartment was on the top floor. With a sigh, Possuman began his ascent up the staircase. Halfway up he began to run out of breath, and his sweat was making his costume sticky. Possuman nearly fell over when he reached the top.

His blurry vision sought out the correct apartment number. Gasping for breath, Possuman dragged his sore body over to the door. He listened carefully to any noise coming from inside and heard nothing. Fearing that the worst had happened, that the TV-dinner had already overtaken the victim, Possuman turned the doorknob and pushed it open.

"Arghhh!" A feminine voice cried out from a broom that was flying rapidly towards the hero.

As Possumman ducked out of the way he realized it was the girl he was supposed to be saving. "Wait! I'm here to save you!" He protested as he avoided yet another hit towards his head.

"Then why weren't you here earlier, knuckle-head?" The furious young woman screeched as she swung her broom at him again.

Tiring of the event, Possuman grabbed the broom and threw it over the balcony. He stepped into the apartment to survey the scene. Unidentifiable brown goop was splattered all over the floor, counters, and furniture of the living room and kitchen. Possuman proceeded further and noticed the smashed microwave next to the kitchen sink. Nearby were remnants of what seemed to be a severely burnt TV-dinner.

"So…I'm guessing you already took care of the situation?" Possuman asked, though he already knew the answer.

"Yeah, no thanks to you." The brunette huffed from the doorway.

"How did you kill that thing?"

"Diet tofu. So are you at least going to help me clean this mess, Possumman?"

"I guess." Possuman grumbled as he took a mop from the closet and began cleaning. He was definitely going to redesign his costume with machine washable fabric.