Tuesday, March 8, 2011

it's a bird, it's a plane...

This is Clark Kent...

er, Superman...

...umm, Kyle. This is Kyle, my fiancé.

Like any all-American (Er, half-American, half-Canadian, if we’re being technical), blonde-hair-blue-eyed-boy, Kyle loves superheroes, light sabers, and comic books. His favorite Batman is Michael Keaton, and if you ask him, he can tell you the scientific reason why you wouldn’t like Bruce Banner when he’s angry. It should be noted that his boyhood scars were not obtained from a skateboard accident or a run-in with the neighborhood dog, but from an epic light saber battle with his older brother. (It should also be noted that this occurred at a time when he was just a little too old to be having epic light saber battles. But don’t worry, we don’t judge.)

Although his affinity for Gotham and a galaxy far, far, away run deep;  Superman is his first and truest love. The tights, the cape, the hair; you might say that Kyle has a bit of a man-crush on the guy. Really, it’s ok. I’m not at all jealous. The man wore a Superman tee-shirt on our first date. I knew what I was getting myself into. (And trust me, it goes well with my own nerdiness, but that’s another story altogether.)

Throughout our entire relationship, I honestly cannot recall a day in which Kyle has not made a reference to Superman at least once. I’m not exaggerating. Kyle can rattle off Superman’s (Kal-El’s? Clark Kent’s?) Kryptonian linage like your boyfriend can rattle off hockey scores. One time, my grandma, a self-proclaimed pop culture aficionado, decided that she was going to go head-to-head with Kyle in an impromptu game of Superman trivia. Needless to say, Kyle left her head spinning. It was quite the night.

Do I ever wish that my fiancé shared my love of Cubs baseball or knew how to change the oil in my car? Sometimes. However, I wouldn’t trade my own personal Superman for anything. I truly believe his years parked in front of the bluish glow of the television, watching Superman stand up for the underdog and fight for justice, shaped him into the strong, caring man he is today.

All along, it has been the small heroic acts that made me fall in love with him. His willingness to help a stranger push their car out of the snow or to donate money to a local charity make me weak at the knees. He makes me breakfast on Sunday mornings and squeegees the dead bugs off my windshield. He surprises me with X-Files comics (See? I told you I was a nerd too.) and finagles our TV antenna so that we can get ABC on the one night of the year that I want to watch TV: Oscar night.

I hate to be mushy and sentimental, and I don’t want to give the idea that everything about our lives is always peachy. We worry about money and argue about household chores. He gets on my nerves when he turns the TV up too loud, and I drive him nuts when I leave my hair in the shower drain.

I guess what I’m saying is, we have our kryptonite. But at the end of the day, I’m honored to be his Lois Lane.

Now, if only he could be faster than a speeding bullet at doing laundry…


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