My son came running into the kitchen while I was cooking wielding a rubber mallet he’d gotten from his father. Yelled, “I’m Thor! This is my hammerrrr!”
When I laughed, I heard M say, “See, I told you she’d laugh.”
However, my son is not the image I want in my head when I think of Thor. Or his mighty hammer. Kinda wrecks the fantasy.
I’m on some wild, windswept coast, overlooking a vast, grey sea. Clouds gather on the horizon. Beside me stands a man with long, golden hair (because he’d have to have long hair. I mean, he’s Thor). He takes my hand and leans in.
And turns into a four-year-old in Darth Vader underwear screaming, “I’m Thor!”
See, not so hot, is it?