She was squatting behind a tree when she saw the yearlings. Two of them. They were trying so hard to be invisible. Just dap pled spots hanging in the air. They were watching her like they’d never seen anything so fucked up. Like the end of the world. They took off when she stood up. “That’s right,” she said. “Get the hell away. Tell anybody about this and I’ll kick your sorry Bambi asses.”

She said, “Okay. So I’ve been wondering about this whole costume thing. Your new outfit. I wasn’t going to say anything, but it’s driving me nuts. What’s with all these crazy stripes and the embroidery?”

“You don’t like it?”

“I like the lightning bolt. And the tower. And the frogs. It’s psychedelic, Biscuit. Can you please explain why y’all wear such stupid outfits? Promise I won’t tell anyone.”

“They aren’t stupid.”

“Yes, they are. Tights are stupid. It’s like you’re showing off. Look how big my dick is.”

“Tights are comfortable. They allow freedom of movement. They’re machine washable.” He began to say something else, then stopped. Grinned. Said, almost reluctantly, “Sometimes you hear stories about some asshole stuffing his tights.”

She started to giggle. Giggling gave her the hiccups. He whacked her on the back.

She said, “Ever forget to run a load of laundry? Have to fight crime when you ought to be doing your laundry instead?”