Me encanta la premisa de “Man Not Superman”, de Jonathan Goldstein: el autor tiene una relación amorosa con Louis Lane, post-Superman.
When I was a child, she was the girl who brought Oreos for lunch, the one who during recess held me cruelly aloft on the seesaw as I squirmed and begged to be let down. In high school, she was the popular girl who wanted nothing to do with me, who saw me as nothing more than a bad aftertaste — like the kind you get when you almost vomit, and can taste the vomit, but don’t actually vomit. In college, Lois was the bored coquette, languidly offering me her leg in the cafeteria, saying, “Feel how strong my calf muscles are.” Lois was all of these, but then, at the moment she handed me her phone number, she became something else entirely. She became a woman who had chosen me.