[for Mary Jane] Ageing Superhero

[daretodo]

In my line of business, you don't expect to make it to old age. It's dangerous, what I used to do -- still occasionally do, for that matter -- and with that danger, you have to accept certain risks. I try not to think about it too much, the fact that I could die every time I put on the mask. It's depressing. But with the arrival of my teenage clone on the scene, my thoughts have been wandering in that direction more and more often. I don't know that I ever thought I'd reach twenty-nine, and with my thirtieth birthday looming on the horizon, it's hard not to wonder if I'm not getting old. I'm on my second marriage. I've lost a child. I've been to more funerals than anyone I know. I have all these reminders of my age, but at the end of the day, I don't actually feel all that old. Weaker, certainly. Slower. More tired. But that has more to do with no longer having the proportionate strength, speed, and agility of a spider than it does me approaching the big three-oh, right?

Right?

I mean, I'm not some old fogey! I've got the best lookin' gal on the whole Island for a wife. I've got more muscle memory for how to spectacular stunts and saves than you can shake a stick at, even if it does take a little more energy than it used to. I've--

"Is that a gray hair?" I ask, eyes widening a little as I catch a glimpse of what I think is a suspiciously off-colored strand of hair at my temple in the reflection of a spoon. I turn my head to get a better look, wondering if it isn't just the light, though just to be sure I call out, "Mary Jane?!"