I notice it first thing this morning when I get in the shower. I'm your typical American male, so naturally, I get my song on while I'm lathering up.
As I hold up my hand to mimic a microphone, suddenly my garbled rendition of "Sweet Child of Mine" is amplified and rings through the bathroom.
"What was that?" yells Samantha.
"Sorry, honey!" I call back.
I'm not quite sure what's happening, but I'm also a big fan of comic books and I recognize a super power when I see one.
I start air-guitaring, and I hear the chords play as though I have an acoustic guitar with me in the shower. I mimic throwing a ball, and the shampoo bottle falls to the ground.
I get out and towel off, eager to get this party started.
I'm already running through superhero names in my head when I get out into the living room and see Sam waiting by the front door for me, her bags packed for her trip to the conference.
That's right, she's leaving for four days.
Well, by the time she gets back, I'll have this mastered. She'll be my Lois; my Mary Jane. She turns and gives me our good bye guns, pointing her index fingers at me and pretending to shoot.
Out of thoughtless habit, I return the gesture.