Naughty language
It’s disgusting how much of my life consists of exercise.
I like capoeira and knife-fighting feels cathartic, but I’m not doing another sit-up today. Bored and achy, I deserve a bath, a book and a pizza.
Whose brilliant idea was it to establish a secret identity? The office hours are crappy. The people I meet crappier. And even though I refuse to appear in public wearing only a swimsuit or a skin-tight latex overall – I’m not getting
paid nearly that well – there’s a sort of general expectation that superheroines should be in perfect shape.
For kicking arse, though. Not modelling.
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