"Lodorus!"

I snapped out of my day-dream -- hey, it had been a slow day at work -- and tried to locate the voice. Right shoulder, no. Left shoulder, no.

"Over here!"

I looked up so fast both the chair and I nearly toppled backward. Frankie Chan was tapping his fingers impatiently against the rail of the staircase leading to the second floor.

"Yeah?" I corrected my position to face him comfortably.

"Need your help."

"Need your help" is one of the phrases a superhero hears most frequently, by the way. Others include "oh" followed by various expletives (or religious references) and "nice spandex."

"Someone's been drinking my condensed milk," he complained as we climbed up.

"Your what?"

"Condensed milk," he repeated impatiently. Come to think of it, rarely did I encounter the patient Frankie Chan.

"Sweetened condensed milk?"

He looked at me. "What difference does that make? Yes, sweetened."

I shrugged. "Well, get a new can. Sweetened condensed milk is everywhere. Had you said salty condensed milk, that would've been tough."

Having clearly muttered a "whatever, Superhero" in his mind, he ignored me for the rest of our five