Posts Tagged ‘ superwoman ’

On The Possession of Superpowers

I discovered last night that I possess superpowers.  Please don’t tell anyone.  I would rather not end up in some government facility being autopsied alive or living out my life in an endless series of experiments.  I’m sure my secret is safe with you.

Throughout my life, I’ve often noticed things, things that make me different than others.  And by others, I mean men.  At first I thought it was just sensory, but after many years of careful analysis, have decided it goes far beyond my eyes, ears, nose, or mouth.  It extends into the realm of foresight, intuition, and reasoning.

What was it, you ask, that prompted this realization?  Nothing more than a nondescript, and rather filthy garbage can.  But not just any garbage can, a garbage can brought to planet Earth many generations ago by super-intelligent aliens from the Orion Nebula.  It’s has a cloaking mechanism that actually allows normal garbage, once it’s been in contact with the rigid, plastic polymer that coats it, to become invisible.

Yesterday started off like any other.  I worked until about 4:30pm; my boyfriend worked until 2:00pm.  He came home, played on the computer.  His little brother, Santos, watched Spongebob.  When I got home at about 5:00pm I walked through the front door into the living room and set my things down.  Dan and Santos both went into the kitchen and I followed them.  This is where things began to get hinky.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw a great and terrible pile of trash.  Spewed out along my newly stripped kitchen floor were coffee grounds, egg shells, wrappers, bottles, cans, baggies, you name it.  All sporting a fresh coating of grunge.  Santos stood at the sink, rinsing out a cup.  Dan was digging through the dishwasher to get a plate.  Both were within five feet of this indoor landfill, yet neither seemed to notice.

“Do you see that?” I asked them, first looking at Santos, then Dan.

“See what?” Dan replies.  He looked at Santos as though asking, “What could she possibly see on this immaculate kitchen floor that I don’t?”

“Santos, do you see it?” I ask, this time  directing his gaze, with my own, towards the pile.

“No.”

I look at the pile, back at them.  They stand, dumfounded, acting as though I might have finally flipped my bic.   When I don’t question them further, they go back to doing what they had been before our conversation.

And that’s when it dawned on me.  I’m the only one capable of seeing it.  I… I have… Oh my God!  I HAVE THE POWER!  These mere men, so lousy in design, don’t possess the powers that would allow them to see the invisible trash pile sitting in the middle of my kitchen floor.

Life’s mysteries were finally being answered.  Not  only did the new understanding of my superpowers allow me access into the male psyche, it showed me why every man I’ve ever been with has called me irrational.  If this garbage is invisible, how many other things in the house  are as well?  How many relationships have I sabotaged because of this lack of knowledge.  When I used to get pissed at my ex-husband for leaving dozens of piss filled soda bottles all through my house, he must have been thinking, “What kind of drugs are you on?”  Evidently, these piss bottles were of the same ilk as this garbage can.  Invisible, and therefore incomprehensible to the inferior, superpowerless male.

I glanced around the rest of the kitchen and started to see more clearly.  At the bottom of the sink sat a grisly, decaying pile of watered down food particles, all trapped in the strainer.   Every day of my life I used to bitch about this, now I know that they weren’t deliberately not cleaning it.  They just couldn’t see it.

The surface of my glass-top stove was covered with a thick film of grease, burned on food and other particles.  I see now  that when I used to say, “make sure you clean all the surfaces in the kitchen”, that they weren’t neglecting it because they didn’t feel like it, it was just that to them, my stove looked like four burners that hovered in mid-air, seemingly defying gravity.

I immediately made my way to each corner and crevice in my kitchen, examining the dust and dirt that was collecting.  Fingerprints on the switchplate, on the fridge, on the cabinets.  Dust on the trimwork, grime both on the edges of my cabinet doors and along my kickboard.  I needed further confirmation.

“Do you see this?” I asked, pointing towards the wall separating the kitchen and living rooms.  It was littered with fingerprints, smudges, and splatters.

They looked at the wall, puzzled.

They looked at each other.

They looked back at me, perplexed yet again and cocked their heads to the side.  Like dogs do when they hear strange sounds.

“See what?”

I  knew it.  They can’t see anything!  By now I’m beginning to  worry though.  What evil plans must the aliens have for our planet if they’ve turned all dust, dirt, fingerprints, garbage, and grease invisible?  It’s V, but real.  The aliens are trying to turn us against each other.  Instigating a revolution of the sexes. They figure that if they make women do all the cleaning, that eventually we’ll get so pissed off that we kill the men off.  Completely.  Entirely.

Then half the work is done for them.

 

 

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