I’m sitting here feeling vaguely ripped off because I just realized I don’t have my own superhero.
Lois Lane has a superhero. Polly Pureheart has a superhero.Two classic examples of spunky reporters living in a thriving metropolis and fighting for truth and justice.
So, here I am, a spunky reporter (well, sometimes spunky, but mostly just smart-aleck) living in a thriving metropolis (um, use your imagination, it helps) and I don’t have a superhero.
No Captain Caveman, no Spidey, no Batman. Not even a Scooby Doo.
I realized all of this while I was staring at the Power Ranger window cling-on thingies in my dining room. They have been there so long that you can’t tell they were originally all the Red Ranger. He has since faded to a light yellow. Within the next year I am assuming he’ll mostly look like the White Ranger. Tommy?
Then I looked up and saw Eric walk through the kitchen in his Underdog t-shirt, and bam! Sudden realization. No superhero for me.
"I thought I was your superhero," Eric mumbled after I blurted out my thoughts. "Hurt feelings. Going in the garage."
He grabbed his coffee cup and off he went, followed by a huge dog who was also giving me a sad look.
They don’t fool me. Their feelings aren’t hurt. Eric spends 90 percent of his off-time doing God-only-knows what in his garage, so he would have been heading out there anyway. And Jeffrey follows him everywhere, so that was also to be expected.
I seriously have no idea what Eric does with all of his time out there. Sometimes he just moves stuff around, and last week I saw him just leaning against his work bench drinking his coffee and chatting with Jeffrey.
But after my sudden realization about the whole superhero thing, he had just better be out there right now learning how to fly.