Ubermensch

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“Ubermensch.Ubermensch. Ubermensch,” I listen closely to the pronunciation over and over on my phone at the breakfast table. It’s part of the morning routine, finding the word of the day in my inbox. I can’t help but giggle when I look up the definition.

“Uber… what. What’s so funny?” hubby asks when I begin to giggle.

“Oh nothing,” I say as I switch over to the camera app on my phone and aim across the breakfast table. There’s a hint of a smile as the flash goes off.

“Don’t post that,” he says.

“What makes you think I’d post this one?” I ask, considering if I should crop out the message on his t-shirt. I decide to leave it there.

“If something happens to you, they’ll come after me,” he cautions as he looks down at his shirt.

“If you didn’t lend your shirts out, the message wouldn’t be there,” I say. My interpretation has a different take.

“So what does it mean?” he asks.

“Your shirt?” I ask.

“No, Uber… however you say it,” he says.

“Look it up. You may be surprised,” I respond. He always thinks I bring out the worst in him and fears what may come up in my memoir. Should he be worried?

Dictionary.com defines it as “superman” while Wordsmith.org defines it as “an ideal man; also used ironically.”  Wikipedia rips the word apart from it’s German origin to  popular culture, a complicated dissertation.  For me, I’ll just settle for the irony of it all and get back to the memoir.

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