The Secret Origins of Dr. Whitebread.

“Bring it! Whitebread.” Selina goes into a slight crouch defending the basket behind her as you try not to be distracted by the sight of her sportsbra covered cleavage you can see through the top of her t-shirt.

With an hour to kill before your wife's women's self defense class starts, and you begin your shift at the clinic next door, Selina has challenged you to a friendly one-on-one basketball game in the Y's gym.

“I can't believe you gave me that nickname.” You begin to dribble to the side knowing your only hope is a range game against your much more agile wife. “The nurses at the hospital are starting to call me that behind my back.”

Selina chuckles.

“Last week, Monica, that cute little four year old I saw at the clinic, thought that was my real name, Dr. Whitebread she called me.” You sink a fadeaway jump shot. “I didn't have the heart to correct her.”

Selina takes the ball behind the three-point line and you tap it back and forth to begin. “Dr. Whiteheard.” She chortles, “I like that, I could make you a cape.”

“Why doesn't anyone anyone call you, Mrs. Whitebread?” You ask while trying to go for a surprise quick steal.

“Because I'm not a dork.” Your wife effortless spins away and drives to the net, though misses the layup.

Selina is a vastly better vertical jumper, but you have six inches and forty pounds on her, and played a little ball back in high school. You grab the rebound and dribble back towards center court debating a mid-range or three-point jump shot. “But, I want a hip name, like Dr. Midnight or something.

“It's taken.” Selina gives you a quick illegal hand-check to try to slow you down.

“What?” You stop and take hold of the ball, now curious.

“It's taken, Charles McNider is Doctor Mid-nite.” Selina straightens up a bit frustrated that your curiosity has halted the game.

“How about Doctor Fate?” You ask. “That sounds rather cool.”

“Kent Nelson.” She answers.

“Doctor Light?”

“Kimiyo Hoshi.”

“Doctor Dark, then?”

“Kane Tucker.”

“Doctor Arcane?”

“Clinton Avery.”

“Doctor Savage?”

Her eyebrow arches with incredulity.

“You have to be kidding, is there a doctor for everything? What is there a Doctor ****? A Doctor Hurt?” You get sarcastic. “Don't tell me there is a Doctor Octopus?”

“Karl Hellfern, Thomas Wayne, Otto Octavius”

“Well then how about Doctor Doom?!” You exasperatedly state.

“Oh honey, you don't want to go there.” Selina walks over and leans on your shoulder, “Face it sweetie, if you were a superhero you would be Doctor Whitebread.”

“I'm not that bad.” You grumble.

Selina gives you a knowing look. “I love you, but I know what you wear to bed.”

“Wait a minute.” You complain, “You like wearing my white t-shirts to bed too.”

“But I look good in them.” She flatly states.

You do have concede that point.

Then that devious look, that you have come to love and fear, runs across your wife's face. “How about this.” She whispers into you ear. “Try to make a three-point shot. If you fail you promise to dress up as 'Doctor Whitebread' for the next costume charity ball at the Athenaeum.”

“And if I make it?” You look at your wife.

“Well.” Selina gives you her best bedroom voice, “I created a wet t-shirt striptease routine back when I was dancing. I never got to use it, but I think I remember how it went.”

“And you call me Doc Savage for a week.” You add, not so much that you actually like the name, but more that it will drive your wife crazy.

“Fine.” Selina rolls her eyes, “Oh Man of Bronze.” She adds with deep sarcasm.

Taking a few steps back behind the three-point line you size up the shot and let the rock fly, getting nothing but net.

Selina's groans while dropping her shoulders in disgust, “Agghh, I never thought you would make it!”

As you give a triumphant smile some of Selina's students cheer and shout from across the court, “Doc Whitebread got game!”