Just in time for the end of the summer

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.