Monday, November 9, 2009

Some Stains Never Come Out

It’s laundry day. After a few weeks of defending mankind against fiendish megalomaniacs, your spandex tends to start smelling a bit gamey. Your architect was initially puzzled by the request to have a telephone booth installed in the master bedroom, but he was a professional, and managed to match the lamps and curtains in a way that it all came together in an aesthetically pleasing manner. You always remember to check your pockets these days- last time a defused neutron bomb you had stashed in your cloak accidentally went into the fast-spin mode, it took days to hose off the walls, and the cat has never trusted you since. You won’t make the mistake of mixing colours, either. Part of the point of having a cool costume is so that people will look at you in awe, and feel a deep sense of trust. They tend not to do that so much if you have a pink tie-dyed chest mantle. Fortunately, it doesn’t take long for the gear to dry. In all your years as a crime-busting demigod, only once have you exposed your butt by having to speed after an out-of-control satellite plummeting towards earth clad only on a towel. The YouTube clips are enough of a sore reminder for you not to do that again. Took you ages to lose the epithet ‘Mighty Buns’.

It’s actually quite soothing; waiting for the rinse cycle to finish, and you can see the charm in it that makes ordinary mortals want to do it every day. Besides, it gets to be a bit of a drag- being on call all the time. Just when you want to watch a rerun of the last series of Will and Grace, the signal comes through, and you have to rescue AGAIN some spineless person from whatever space zombie/clone/bald dictator. You’d think people would think twice about hoarding money in steel vaults or cooking up super drugs in unsecured laboratories, but they never seem to learn.

There’ve been at least two occasions in the last four months alone where you’ve spilt your pot noodles, and had to go through the whole washing process again. Could they not turn down the volume on the Rescue Alert siren? For goodness sakes, it may sound loud to them, but you have the hearing of an alert puppy, it’s bound to make you jump a little in your La-z-boy. Yeah. Life isn’t just all fame and glory when you are awesome. When you have a spare moment (as if!) you make a mental note to visit the people at Marvel comics and tell them so. They have a responsibility as media professionals to tell the truth. Maybe if the kids didn’t grow up with such an inflated opinion of you, you could go to the Holiday Inn near the sea for a few days occasionally, and sip pink drinks with little umbrellas in them. Fat chance.

{It’s been a long year. My super powers are waning. Anyone offering to buff up my booties? No, man, I mean the ones on my feet. Sheesh. Mortals. Can’t take ‘em anywhere}.

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