Bristles and The Shiny Weapon of Choice.

Super-heroes will be super-heroes.
They miss the rush of adrenaline.
The breathless-excitement coursing through their veins.
The feel of a cape swirling behind them.
The mirror winking at them in their super-hero jumpsuits.

It started with a spoon.
The normal, shiny kind that has an upside-down, hazy version of you grinning back.
I rolled it over in my hands. Traced it’s blunt contours. Smiled to myself.
There was a dearth of super-heroes.
There was a dearth of deep-baritone voices happily announcing that the day was saved.
It seemed every other day that a feline fur-ball querulously moaned from a tree-top.
And the enemy’s jumpsuits just got slicker. Not to mention their ultra-cool bang-bang gadgets.
I toyed with the idea of being The Spoon Assassin.
Combined with my wit (who said super-heroes were modest?) and the mind bogglingly neat ability of spoons to reflect things, I’d be basking in my super-hero glory all over again.

I could picture the headlines:
She Does it with Spoons.
The Mosquito Swatter: Armed and Fabulous.
The Spoon Assassin Saves the Day, Forking her Way Out With Spoons.

But as they said,
I was becoming old. Wheezing.
Sporting that odd grey hair.
And there were those pouches under my eyes.
And there was the flab.

I decided I could somehow coax Mr. Toothbrush into becoming The Spoon Assassin, being the absolute gentleman that he is.

And so, the saga continues…