The postman only rings once. Then he runs.

Zj is obsessed with two things. 

Superheroes and playing pretend superheroes.

"Mama, wanna play pretend with me?"

I hear it a thousand times a day and oh dear God I'd rather stab my eye out with a rusty spoon that to have to be pretend to be a superhero sidekick or a villain one more freakin' second I usually figure out a way to incorporate in into our daily life.

While I'm making breakfast, I'm Catwoman to zj's Batman.

Folding laundry?  I'll be Jean Grey to zj's Wolverine.

Lunchtime?  I'll be Pepper Potts to his Ironman.

Recently, since I took zj to see the movie and have purchased no less than 14 Burger King kid's meals in order to secure all 6 toys, it's been Thor and Sif.  

And on and on the day goes.  And on, and on, and on, and on, and on...

Being the well-rounded superhero-loving family that we are, there are also many, many costume changes involved.  

Mostly on zj's part.  Sadly, many of his costumes are on the smallish side for me.  But the headgear fits.  Oh joy.

One day last week, we did our usual "Thor&Sif" routine in the morning, then I got a brief reprieve while cj napped and zj watched random Youtube videos on the iPad about how to assemble, disassemble and reassemble Marvel Crossover Transformer Action Figures.

Hmmm... geek much?

Anyway, at one point the doorbell rang, and I did my usual mental inventory to ensure I was appropriately dressed to answer the door.  Pants?  Check.  Shirt? Check.  (My standards are pretty low.) Ok, hi Mailman.  Thanks for the package.

When I opened the door, the mailman, our usual friendly guy, looked a bit startled.  I did a quick, stealthy glance down.  Yep, I had all my lady bits covered.   Mailman stuttered and stammered a minute as I tried to make friendly chitchat, but he seemed a little... off, I guess.  Is he having a stroke?  On my front porch?  Oh dear God who am I going to call if my mailman has a stroke on my front porch?  Do I have to call 911 or can I just print a label out and ship him back somewhere?  Parcel post, of course.  It's my face.  He's staring at my face.  I must have chocolate on my face.  Or maybe I need to get my eyelids and mustache waxed again. Yep.  He's definitely staring at my mustache.  Damn judge-y old Mailman.  Well screw him.  He has HAIR GROWING OUT OF HIS EARS.  Who is he to judge a few stray chin hairs on an otherwise perfectly lovely lady like myself?  That's it.  I'm not standing for it.  I'm taking my business to UPS.

After a perfectly frosty "ThankYouAndGoodbye" and a bit of a door slam on my part, I put down my package and went to see exactly what my Mailman was staring at.

And I saw this:

Oh.

Well.

I guess my Sif Headband might merit a second look.

It's ok, Mailman.

I forgive you for staring.

I'm generous like that.