Dear Diary,

Clothes, clothes, clothes. I have lots of them, mostly professional pieces or sets for work.

And some Saturdays, I hate them all. I don’t want to be prim and pinstriped; I want to be punk and funky. 

Yet, I don’t know exactly what that is on me.

Not yet.

He called at half past three, yawning while he held the phone away as she answered.



“Hey! Will you take me out to see Beauty and the Beast? Tonight?”

“Of course. I’m, um, er, yes…?”

“Yay! But I hate all my clothes. All of them.”

He laughed. “You always look good.”

“The weather is weird, overcast and muggy. I have no idea what’s appropriate.”

“Well, I can be there in about an hour. I just need to shower and take care of a few things.”

“Can I pretend to be 20 and just wear my jammies everywhere?”

He laughed again as she hung up. Rubbing his eyes he stretched, mentally regrouping while replaying her voice in his head.

An hour passed by quickly; he sent a text to let her know he was on his way to pick her up.

He drove across town on autopilot, relaxed and humming a song that had been stuck in his head since yesterday.

Walking up to the door, he knocked and folded his hands, rocking back on his heels.

She opened the door impossibly blonde, ringlets falling almost to her waist. She was wearing a familiar red superhero logo tee shirt, ripped jeans, and knee high red Converse boots.


“Lucky, lucky me,” he breathed, and she laughed, picking up a red leather jacket as they headed out together.


I’ll let you know how it turned out!



**Supergirl logo credit:**