When I was a wee thing, there weren’t a lot of strong women on TV for me to look up to. Sure, Sabrina was pretty cool on Charlie’s Angels, but she still had to answer to some faceless dude who always seem to be sitting next to his phone a la Commissioner Gordon.
But there was Lynda Carter’s Wonder Woman. She was smart. She was strong. She was a career woman with super powers. She had mad skills in crime fighting, and she had dark hair – like mine – in a sea of sun-bleached blonds.
I loved Wonder Woman. I had a pair of Wonder Woman Underoos that I wore under my regular clothes for YEARS. I wore those suckers until they were full of runs like a pair of stockings, until they could no longer contain my growing body.
While the physical Wonder Woman tank and panties I wore is nothing more than polyester pieces long buried in a landfill, I don’t think I ever really took it off. I think the strength and bad assery that is Wonder Woman kind-of sunk beneath my skin through those years of wearing that secret superhero uniform underneath my everyday duds.
Next week, I’m attending a blog conference where I will be surrounded by 4000 Wonder Women. It’s my first BlogHer conference, and being a newbie can be pretty intimidating. I know I’ll be inspired by all of these amazing women, and when I feel my anxiety beginning to try to take hold, I’ll remember my own special powers, emblazoned on my soul like a soaring, golden eagle – and a pair of starry underwear.
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