Superman and I have a few things in common.
We both look good in tights, although I usually wear mine underneath skirts instead of as pants.
We both have a slight wave to our hair, although mine’s frizzier. And has more gray. And there’s no S-curl on my forehead.
We both worked for newspapers, although I got to cover cooler things, like school board meetings where people were irked about the number of napkins in the cafeterias. And city planning meetings where people were irked about the number of gutters on the streets. And city council meetings where people were irked about the number of dogs in their neighborhoods.
But the biggest thing we have in common is our super senses.
When my husband fills up the gas tank and hops in the car, he smells like he squirted gasoline all over himself. I roll down the window and stick my head out to make the smell go away, as any mature person would.
I see spider webs everywhere I go, even though nobody else ever notices them. It’s like super-spider-web-sensing sight. And I wave my hands around to make sure I don’t get any on my body, as any mature person would.
I hear people walking around outside, even when our windows are closed. And I sneak a peek to see who it is, as any mature person would.
The other day I heard someone talking outside the living room window. I jumped up from my laptop to see who it was. When my husband asked what I was doing, I asked if he’d heard the people talking, too.
“You need to get your ears checked,” he said, shaking his head.
“I have perfectly good hearing,” I said.
“Exactly," he said. "It’s too powerful."
I asked if he was jealous of my super senses.
“Nope. If you had worse hearing, you wouldn’t have to jump up and go check on things," he said. "Ignorance is bliss.”