My childhood dream was born of too many years reading comic books. Throughout adolescence I sought refuge in a world inhabited by Spider-Man, the Fantastic Four, Ghost Rider and many others. I wanted to be one in their company, but I have no genetic mutation. Nor have I been exposed to dangerous levels of radiation whether in the form of cosmic rays, gamma rays or anything else.
I had just about given up hope of ever being a super-hero when it hit me. In the past I have become misty-eyed at birthday and fathers’ day cards that my children have given me that say I am their superhero. These meant a lot and still do, only the sentiment is pre-printed. Not quite what I was looking for.
Still, I am a super-hero. My power is to keep our refrigerator free of those excess morsels of meals gone by. I have become Leftover Man. Or Captain Leftovers. Or the Garbage Can. Whatever. The name doesn’t matter.
What matters is I am a super-hero. I am happy to be living the dream. Now, what’s for lunch?
I always thought your superhero name was ‘is he wearing a sweaterman?’
Are you jealous at my ability to generate and retain warmth?
Not jealous, envious of your’power’
Sorry David the name matters…
You cannot be Leftover Man (the name is taken), that’s my husband’s moniker!