After the events of this afternoon it has become apparent to me that my inner Superher-ette is starting to rear its head in some unexpected ways.
It is with this realization that I feel it is important to start negotiations on comic books, energy drinks, movies, action figures, Saturday morning cartoons, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.
I think I should build my fan base at the comic book level. Get some good solid followers that will spread my gospel throughout the land. But there’s the problem. With great power comes great responsibility. Imagine if instead of a Superher-ette, I became a Super Villainess! I must proceed carefully and with great caution. We find ourselves in a delicate situation, friends.

Now, here comes another great question. Can you be trusted? Or do I trust no one? Can you be the Alfred to my Batman and know my deepest darkest secret but not tell a soul? You can? Very well. We shall proceed.

I’ve got this shirt, see? It’s the best shirt in the entire world. This shirt *IS* my Golden Boy. It’s a great shirt for sleeping in and a great shirt for running in. It’s comfy and is, as a Golden Boy should be, the first shirt worn in clothing rotation. He’s been holding up pretty strong and perhaps the comfy nature of Golden Boy is brought on by too many washings, explaining why the t-shirt is such a “tragic figure.” I’m not about to break his spirit, so our cycle continues. But ever the dependable shirt, Golden Boy carries on.

This afternoon I was going on a quick 30 minute run as I was pressed for time. And being that Golden Boy was fresh and clean, he was the candidate that was to accompany me on this run. At the conclusion of our 30 minutes, I was changing and was putting my hand under the shirt to take it off. Applying slight pressure to the t-shirt itself my hand actually went THROUGH the t-shirt without any effort at all. I was in shock. See?

So I had to see if this was just a fluke or if it was the real deal. So I tried another part of the shirt. And it ripped too. Soon enough the shirt was completely torn up and I felt, Hulky. To say the least. “What did this mean?” I wondered. “Where does this lead me?” But I was in a rush and there was no time to sit around and have inner conversations over my new fate.

But after a few hours I’ve decided that this can only mean one thing. When I was a baby I was somehow genetically altered and I was left with this power of superhuman strength that can only be explained as, well, ‘Super.’ Superher-ette? Or Super Villainess? We’ve yet to see the conclusion of this saga.

But perhaps it is best to start to square away copyrights, storylines, actors/actresses, costume details, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera, before all the good ones are taken. Imagine 5 years from now when this becomes a full blown international phenomena and the only person that we can find to portray me in a movie is Whoopi Goldberg (Note to self: Does Theodore Rex count as a “Superhero” movie?)

…To Be Continued…

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