The nurses think me strange for my attachment to my tights. They’re royal blue and rumored to be indestructible, though I’ve recently discovered a small hole where the big toe of my left foot has worn through the material. Many days I ask to wear these tights under the gray sweatpants common among the residents. Some nurses oblige. Some don’t. Poor old man. He’s so confused. There are times I find I can’t endure the pity in their eyes, and that’s when frustration gets the better of me. A needle to the arm and I’m calm once more.
The nurses don’t know. Nobody knows. I saved the world more times than I can count in these tights. I foiled mad scientists and defeated criminal masterminds. I thwarted no less than six alien invasions. People loved me. And threw parades in my honor.
In a former life, I was a hero. Now, surrounded by pills and pudding, walkers and wheelchairs, I’m just the the feeble old man with a peculiar penchant for wearing blue tights.