I cut a dignified figure, a well-spoken, hirsute older gentleman, as I move gracefully through the environs of Red Hook. A Facebook friend recently remarked that I am looking more like the Roman God Zeus all the time. People often mistook me for George Clooney when he lived in this area.
Like the Godfather, I love to buy fresh fruit in season. White-haired women my age coo flirtatiously to me over the macintosh apples as we peruse them in the local market. I try to ignore these ladies as graciously as possible — what is worse than a tease?
The earthy epithets in my vocabulary, from my earliest days in Newark, have long been eviscerated from my daily language; years in the Ivy League, other influences of academia and my wife, make me seem gracious and polite.
Who would suspect, seeing me in the checkout line in the market, that this well-spoken gentleman harbors, like a superhero, a terrible secret under his shorts? A secret so pernicious and powerful that a false move on his part, like an urban terrorist, could bring the checkout line to a screeching, gasping, halt! I have to be very strong.
I calmly pay my bill and walk a bit stiff legged to the privacy of the tiny black sports car I still insist on driving — my Batmobile. My current weight makes entering or leaving this vehicle difficult.
Once back @ the Bat Cave I extract myself from my malodorous shorts, rinse them in the sink and take a long, hot shower. Now seated with my Charmin wedgie and in an adult diaper, I thought to share this adventure. I know it’s not an easy read but it offers a caveat to those of you lucky enough to persevere in the world as long as the Batman has. Be well, Gotham City.
B(at) Man
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Bernard Greenwald is a painter and musician. Three of his paintings are in the current ALTE art show at the Puffin Gallery in Teaneck, NJ.
Zeus was a Greek god, not Roman. Jupiter was his Roman equivalent.
I'm laughing.
Superwoman