Monika Basile's Blog: Confessions of a Bleeding Heart - Posts Tagged "superman"
Superman Wears Boxer Shorts
Superman wears boxer shorts. I know this for a fact.
It was a mild mannered night and my new landlord controls the heat and had cranked it like any villain would do. In my room, it was boiling. We had the window open and a fan blowing the cool air in. I couldn’t sleep knowing I had to get up extra early to fill in for a caregivers shift. I couldn’t sleep because I seem to be fading in and out from hot flashes as my arch enemy, “The Mentalpause”, was also making an appearance in the dead of night.
My hero was softly snoring beside me, hogging the bed, slumbering peacefully as I sweltered into the wee hour of 3:00am. I got up and went into the living room and contemplated turning the air conditioner on though the heat was blaring through the registers. Instead, I opened the balcony sliding door and stood in the frigid air. I went back to bed.
Howls awoke me. Pitiful mewling seemed to be coming from outside. I thought of Sam, my wayward cat, and feared I had somehow let him out on the balcony when I had opened the door. I ran to the balcony, wrenched the crooked screen door open and went out. He wasn’t there. I live three floors up and was sure he was lying with a broken leg in the grass below.
I ran through the apartment screaming, “Sam’s outside! Oh my God help me find him. He’s outside.” I stormed down the stairs in my nightgown, running like a maniac up and down the side walk looking for him in the grass, trying to find exactly where the howling was coming from.
Superman, wearing blue plaid boxers, stood on the balcony calling softly, “Sam. Sam. Where are you?”
“MEOW!” was the reply and I could spy two little ears sticking up over the gutter attached to the roof.
“He’s on the roof!” I screamed as I raced in with the thought of calling the fire department to save my cat.
However, this is where a hero usually steps in.
“Get a chair!” he yelped as I rushed to bring it. I arrive in my bedroom to him pulling out the screen and pushing out the window and he scrambled onto the chair and starts leaning backwards out the window. “Grab my leg!” I immediately obeyed and watched him contort his body around the open window, grab Sam by the scruff of his neck from the gutter and toss him in.
He climbed back in the window. I hugged him hard. “I can’t believe you just did that—hanging out of a window three stories up in your underwear…”
“I had to save Sam.” He sighed. “You know, I’m afraid of heights…”
There you have it. Superman wears boxers. Most people wouldn’t realize it just by looking at him. Most people might not even think to wonder. I did and I am so damn lucky that I already had some idea of who he really was under his everyday appearance.
Monika M. Basile
It was a mild mannered night and my new landlord controls the heat and had cranked it like any villain would do. In my room, it was boiling. We had the window open and a fan blowing the cool air in. I couldn’t sleep knowing I had to get up extra early to fill in for a caregivers shift. I couldn’t sleep because I seem to be fading in and out from hot flashes as my arch enemy, “The Mentalpause”, was also making an appearance in the dead of night.
My hero was softly snoring beside me, hogging the bed, slumbering peacefully as I sweltered into the wee hour of 3:00am. I got up and went into the living room and contemplated turning the air conditioner on though the heat was blaring through the registers. Instead, I opened the balcony sliding door and stood in the frigid air. I went back to bed.
Howls awoke me. Pitiful mewling seemed to be coming from outside. I thought of Sam, my wayward cat, and feared I had somehow let him out on the balcony when I had opened the door. I ran to the balcony, wrenched the crooked screen door open and went out. He wasn’t there. I live three floors up and was sure he was lying with a broken leg in the grass below.
I ran through the apartment screaming, “Sam’s outside! Oh my God help me find him. He’s outside.” I stormed down the stairs in my nightgown, running like a maniac up and down the side walk looking for him in the grass, trying to find exactly where the howling was coming from.
Superman, wearing blue plaid boxers, stood on the balcony calling softly, “Sam. Sam. Where are you?”
“MEOW!” was the reply and I could spy two little ears sticking up over the gutter attached to the roof.
“He’s on the roof!” I screamed as I raced in with the thought of calling the fire department to save my cat.
However, this is where a hero usually steps in.
“Get a chair!” he yelped as I rushed to bring it. I arrive in my bedroom to him pulling out the screen and pushing out the window and he scrambled onto the chair and starts leaning backwards out the window. “Grab my leg!” I immediately obeyed and watched him contort his body around the open window, grab Sam by the scruff of his neck from the gutter and toss him in.
He climbed back in the window. I hugged him hard. “I can’t believe you just did that—hanging out of a window three stories up in your underwear…”
“I had to save Sam.” He sighed. “You know, I’m afraid of heights…”
There you have it. Superman wears boxers. Most people wouldn’t realize it just by looking at him. Most people might not even think to wonder. I did and I am so damn lucky that I already had some idea of who he really was under his everyday appearance.
Monika M. Basile
