Underoos

I still remember getting my first pair of Underoos at the tender age of four. By the time the car's engine had cooled from the trip to the mall I was suited up and fighting crime on our quiet street. I didn't realize that Underoos were underwear until a kindly neighbor lady informed me that I was running around the block in my skivvies. It was one of the most deflating moments of my life, and not because I was embarrassed to have been half naked in public, but because my Wonder Woman outfit got demoted before I'd managed to lasso so much as a rock. I couldn't take refuge in my lair or mansion - Wonder Woman's main digs was an invisible jet. Even if I'd had one the neighbors would still be able to see me. There was simply no getting around the 'don't play outside in your underwear' policy. That pretty much ruined Underoos for me.

I suppose I had more of Tony Stark mentality when it came to being a super hero: none of this mild-mannered, alter-ego stuff for me. What is the point of wearing super hero clothes if no one can see them? I'm super and I want everyone to know it. Fortunately, it's not too late for me to get my girl-empowered geek on.

Of course, a grown woman running around in her underpants is likely to attract undesirable attention, so this time I'm wearing the Underoos over my clothes, a la Super- and Bat- mans. I can practice lassoing the cats and use the empty cardboard box from the new water heater as my (not) invisible jet. Oh my goodness, this is going to be so much fun.

By the Power of Isis!