My first real Super Hero encounter.

So we have one day of decent weather to play a little golf and my new mentor/partner asks if I want to ride in her cart. So being the newby on the course, I gladly jump at the chance to have a chauffeur on the links to show me the way to golf nirvana.

I had no idea how good this was going to be until I get a glimpse of her at a distance driving up to sweep me off my feet in - now wait for it - the tricked-out, gadget filled Batmobile. I nearly fell over, but my Super Hero balance trigger kicked in and I stayed upright til I knelt down in front of the cart with hands bowing with respect. "I'm not worthy." I've only been training since January. Do I dare? I was as giddy as a teenage girl who'd just been kissed by Lawrence Taylor, no wait, wait, Taylor Lautner. Oops. God, I hope his wife doesn't read this blog.

So I'm thinking, Holy Snot Rocket, her husband is the caped crusader and apparently not worried about hiding his identity. It's weird though, because her name isn't Vicki Vale. She's probably hiding her identity because she doesn't want anyone to know she's a reporter for the Reno Gazette Journal. It has some issues of late, (I mean in the analytical sense, like it doesn't know what it wants to be when it grows up - New York Times, USA Today). Sorry, sometimes I just can't stop myself.

I have to say, I play a much better game of golf when I'm surrounded by my true Super Hero accessories and paraphernalia. I felt so at home. It was a little awkward at the end of the day when everyone had gone inside for the end-of-the tournament meal and I was still sitting in the cart waiting for a signal from the Mayor of Gotham City.

Oh, and my partner who's name isn't Vicki Vale, is one of those super do-gooders who hands out her own body organs like candy at Halloween. Oh yeah, you need a spleen, she'll spare it; a kidney, no problem. Where do these people come from? I don't even think she went through any formal training for this.