I was blessed with a slightly-better-than-average sense of smell, presumably to make up for my slightly-worse-than-average eyesight. You know how Daredevil was blinded by the same radioactive waste that made the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, and his other senses became super powerful to make up for it? That happened to me, but on a way less impressive scale.
Today at work I spent more time than I should have turning my boss, “Ike”, into a unicorn.
He was so impressed (that might be the wrong word) that he told me I could add ‘Maker of Unicorns’ to my business card.
“As long as the card looks like it was designed by Lisa Frank,” I said, and he stared at me like I was a crazy person.
“You know. Lisa Frank? Oh… I just remembered you weren’t a small girl growing up in the ’90s.”
“No,” he said. “Thank you for acknowledging that.”
If you like your superheroes tall, dark, and broody, Batman is right up your crime-ridden alley. Bruce Wayne’s parents were murdered in front of him. He dealt with his grief by dressing up like a bat and jumping off tall buildings to eradicate the scum poisoning his city. He’s a misunderstood maniac, but also a beacon of hope, delivering justice where others cannot. A silent guardian, a watchful protector. A dark knight.
Stew on that, Bruce Wayne-style, while I talk about something unrelated.
When I was 11, I moved to Hawaii.
At the same age wizards go to Hogwarts, preteen girls become terrible humans. Before the move, adults were always trying to assuage my angst by telling me it was going to be an experience. I quickly realized calling something “an experience” is a misleadingly positive way to say nothing at all. Describing something that way is completely accurate and completely inadequate.
I’ve officially reached the point in college where I can no longer be whatever I want to be when I grow up. I’ve committed, and it would be a waste of time and money to change it up now. I like my major. I really do. But I’m thinking about all the things I could have been that I probably won’t be now. Every day, a little voice in my head says something stupid, and every morning, I have to talk my head out of being crazy.
“But what if I wanted to be a doctor?” No, Stephanie. You don’t want to be a doctor. You’re squeamish, remember?
“But what if I wanted to be a spelunker?” No, Stephanie. You don’t want to be a spelunker. You’re claustrophobic and you only like it because the name sounds like the noise a rock makes when it hits water.
“But what if I wanted to train wolves?” Dammit, Stephanie. That doesn’t even make sense.
– I like homecoming.
– Shut up, she was not my date. We’re just friends.
– I think I like homecoming.
– Did you see how Drew and I dressed opposite of each other? His tie was gray and my shirt was, and my tie was black and his shirt was. Man, it was so itchy. But that’s weird, right?
– I like homecoming, and I ate a vanilla wafer!
– I saw Drew dancing. He pretended he wasn’t having fun, but I saw him dancing. He dances like this: (demonstration of stomping and twitching). Like Bigfoot! Exactly how Bigfoot would dance!