Captain Obvious

Some superheroes are born out of necessity; others have heroism thrust upon them. Captain Obvious didn’t arrive from a distant plant, spring forth from the molten core of the earth or cross over from a parallel universe. On New Year’s Eve he was born out of what seemed to be a benign statement made by yours truly: “Honey, you know tomorrow is New Year’s Day.”

The Wife, as lovable as she is, could not let the comment go unanswered. “Thank you, Captain Obvious.” It’s a moment that will go down in superhero history. Now that I’ve officially dubbed myself a superhero, I must spend my days doing superhero stuff — like pointing out all the obvious things people do.

Announcing that the phone is ringing was the first job for Captain Obvious. Stating the trash can under the kitchen counter was full or that someone needed to unload the dishwasher were two others. Rolling over at 3 a.m. and muttering that the dog is barking and needs to go out was a job for Captain Obvious.

Unfortunately, actually taking the dog out was too. And take it from me, long-johns or no, it’s downright cold out there.

After just one week of living with a superhero, The Wife wanted to change my name to Captain Obnoxious.

Undeterred by the not-so-welcome welcome Captain Obvious had received at his hidden hideaway, he ventured out into the world to the local coffee shop. After giving my order, I pulled around to the window and announced, “You know the drive-thru is only for those people who don’t want to get out of their cars.” Driving off, I just knew they appreciated the wisdom bestowed upon them from Captain Obvious.

The guys I work with at the fire department didn’t really care much for the Captain. It seems they didn’t need him to tell them the phone was ringing, to go on calls after they had been dispatched over the radio or to announce at 2 a.m. that it was really cold outside. Sometimes even a superhero doesn’t get any respect.

It was then I realized that to be taken seriously, I needed a costume. Asking The Wife for help designing Captain Obvious’s costume didn’t work too well. She couldn’t stop laughing. Finally catching her breath, she said she was going out for coffee. I told her if she didn’t want to get out of the car, she could use the drive-thru. She must have appreciated the advice; Captain Obvious got a kiss before she left.

I set to work on the super suit and quickly decided that a one-piece, white Spandex suit made things ... well ... too obvious.

A cape was also out of the question because it was too dangerous. I have a hard enough time with an umbrella in the wind, much less a cape. A cape could get caught in a door, burst into flames if too close to a fire or, worst of all, get pulled on constantly by little kids.

Two hours later, The Wife returned to check on my progress. After trying on all the Spandex I could find and ruining one pair of The Wife’s pantyhose, I had finally given up on the idea of a super suit. Instead, we decided that for Captain Obvious to wear a costume would actually be too obvious.

I’m staying incognito by wearing regular clothes and spreading my obvious observations only when I’m away from the house. That way, Captain Obvious can enjoy the life of a superhero — and continue to stay happily married.