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Just in time for the end of the summer

August 3, 2011

Personally, I’d like to put myself on Wonder Woman’s chest, but that’s neither here nor there.

Quick story. Years ago — when I was still in the early single digit age range — I had a Hulk beach towel. I loved that thing like Linus loved his blanket, even if it had become a bit tattered. Then one day, as I was walking through the garage, I passed my father’s workbench and saw some rags with pieces of a familiar drawing on them. I think you grasp where this is going. My father, seeing the beaten old thing on a shelf, had turned my towel into handy-dandy rags. I promptly raised a teary, unholy ruckus, and somehow, someway, my parents in short order tracked down a brand spanking new duplicate. I was placated.

God forbid if my father had shredded a Superman towel. I might have run away and joined the circus or something.

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