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Have you ever slept through your alarm and had to skip breakfast? Have you ever wished for more protein in the morning than what bland oatmeal could provide? Have you ever been stranded in the woods, starving, with nothing but a raw egg? If you answered “yes” to at least one of these questions, Lenny Livingston could have helped. You see, Lenny had a superpower. …Well, it was less a superpower, and more a “specific issue resolver.” Lenny Livingston could [insert drumroll here] fry an egg under any circumstances, provided he had a frying pan handy. No, he couldn’t create fire to heat the pan. No, he didn’t have laser vision to cook the egg. And, no, he didn’t switch the uncooked egg for a fried one when you weren’t looking. He merely cracked the egg open, dropped it into the pan, and shook his fist at it threateningly. Moments later, the egg was so perfectly fried, Gordan Ramsay himself would call it “the most amazing” thing he’d ever eaten (before remarking the burnt toast that came with it was “a real shame”). I imagine some of you might be asking questions about Lenny’s power’s limits. How about an omelet? What if you wanted sunny-side up? Could he do an ostrich egg? Remember I called it a “specific issue resolver” a few paragraphs back? No omelets. No variations on preparation. Only chicken eggs. Lenny couldn’t even fry two eggs in succession. It was a once-per-day kind of power. When Lenny had first discovered the power (shaking his fist at an uncooked egg in the pan – he’d forgotten to turn the burner on) he was amazed. He replicated the feat the following day, and the day after. Then he tried experimenting. If you’ve been paying attention, you’ll have already concluded that his experiments were unsuccessful. Some people would be happy with a superpower, even with such constraints. Lenny was not. He’d tasted greatness (here referring to both his minute ability and its delicious result) and he wanted more. If only he could grow his power, think of what he could accomplish! He’d open a breakfast restaurant, for starters. Then he’d expand it. After that, eradicating world hunger would be just over the horizon. But none of this was possible until his power grew from a specific to a general issue resolver. Then, one day, after frying an egg more from frustration than because he was hungry, Lenny found a note in his pocket: TOP SECRET! You are cordially invited to join The Super Pals @ 12 Chestnut Drive, 7pm tonight. Knock three times. Tell no one. How the note had gotten into Lenny’s pocket was a mystery. He’d been home all day and hadn’t seen anyone. His pants were fresh out of the dryer. Clearly, whoever had put it there must have had some great superpower, like invisibility or super speed! At 7pm, Lenny skipped all the way to the noted address (a modest rowhome within the city) and knocked upon the door. An elderly woman in a nightgown greeted him. Not exactly the guard he’d been expecting. “I’m here to see The Super Pals,” Lenny whispered. “Eh?” the woman said. “Speak up, sonny.” Lenny cleared his throat. “The Super Pals.” “There’s a gas station down the street,” she said. “They have a commode. First stop on the trail. Restroom’s for customers only, though, so you’ll have to buy something.” “Ma!” someone from within shouted. “Who is it?” “Another pedestrian on the Pooper Trail, Steven. Never you mind. Go back to playing dragon dungeons with your friends.” “I’m here to join up,” Lenny called inside. “The Super Pals.” There was a thunderous stamping up the steps. Steven – a greasy, heavy-set fellow – appeared and pulled Lenny in. “Shh! What if someone heard you! Didn’t you read the note? Top secret!” The woman groaned. “Fine. But wash your hands when you’re done. And don’t tell me you always do. We’ll both know it’s a lie.” “We’re hungry, Ma,” said Steven. “I’ll bring you some cookies, dear,” said the woman, and she disappeared into the kitchen. Steven beckoned Lenny to follow, and led him into the basement. Four cheap lawn chairs were arranged around a collapsible brown card table (lacking cards). Two other people – a freckly, red-haired boy and a shifty-eyed woman wearing overlarge glasses – sat with their hands folded, regarding Lenny with suspicion. “This is Jimmy,” Steven said, indicating the boy, then gestured to the woman. “And that’s Louise.” Lenny shook their hands and introduced himself. “Please, sit,” said Steven. He and Lenny took the two empty chairs. “Welcome to The Super Pals.” “Wait ‘til you try one of Steve’s ma’s cookies,” Jimmy said. “They’re the whole reason I come to these meetings.” “They are divine,” Louise agreed, squinting suspiciously at the newcomer. “Can’t wait to try,” said Lenny. “And I’m happy to be here. Only, I hope there isn’t some mistake. My superpower isn’t exactly useful in fighting crime.” “We don’t fight crime.” Louise’s shifty eyes shifted to Steven. “Did you change the note I gave you?” Steven held his hands up defensively. “Snuck it into his pocket right away. If I edited it, he’d have seen me.” “Sorry, I just assumed,” said Lenny. “You are all superheroes though, right?” “We all have superpowers,” Steven said with a shrug. “So… is this a school of some kind?” Lenny asked, daring to hope. “Maybe a training program?” “We’re a support group,” said Louise. “For people with incredibly niche abilities. For instance, I can make a rose smell like a s’mores pop tart, but not the other way around.” “Once a week, I can either add or subtract a freckle from my arm,” said Jimmy. “And I can deliver messages to people’s pockets without them seeing,” Steven said proudly. “As long as they are written by someone else, and don’t have anything to do with government, military, or crime bosses.” “That sounds like it could be useful,” Lenny said. “Useful for a middle school student, maybe. Or if it was still the early 90s, before email and text messaging came to be.” They all stared at Lenny expectantly. “Oh,” he said. “I can fry one egg per day, without a heat source.” “Amazing!” said Jimmy. “That’s loads more useful than my ability!” “And mine,” Louise agreed. Lenny gave them half-a-smile. To say he was disappointed was selling his disappointment short. He was crushed. He’d really hoped to get on some kind of super squad; or at least be the cook for one. You know. Make real change in the world. “Don’t look so glum,” Steven said. “He’s allowed to feel his feelings,” Louise chided. She patted Lenny’s arm. “We’re here to support you in any way you need.” “But you’re a group of superheroes,” Lenny said. “Shouldn’t you at least have a nemesis or something?” “We’re not superheroes,” Louise said. “We prefer the term, ‘superfluously gifted.’” “And there’re no villains in our story,” added Steven. Jimmy raised his hand excitedly, as if begging for the teacher to call on him. “What about Rabbit Randall?” “Rabbit Randall isn’t our nemesis,” Louise scoffed. “Even if he claims otherwise.” “Who?” asked Lenny. “Rabbit Randall.” Steven let out a long, defeated breath. “He’s my next-door neighbor. Has the ability to make rabbits scratch their ears.” “It’s really cute,” said Jimmy. “Super cute,” agreed Louise. “We all know it’s cute!” Steven snapped. “Anyway. I invited him to our group. Very neighborly of me, I know. He was having a tougher time accepting his niche powers than we all did. Then, one day he called us all a bunch of…” Louis gave him a sympathetic smile. “You can say it, Steve. That’s why we’re here.” Steven took a shaky breath. “A bunch of losers.” “And super-zeroes,” Jimmy grunted. “So original.” “Then he went and started his own support group for people who wanted to increase their powers,” said Steven. Lenny sat up a little straighter. “Is that possible?” “Well, yeah, but at what cost?” Steven asked. “So, he can make a rabbit come sniff his finger now. So what?” “What do you mean, ‘so what?’” Lenny laughed. “Don’t you want to deliver important secret messages, Steve? And Louise, what if you could make daisies smell like Funions? And Jimmy, what if you could…uh…” “Change the color of my freckles to look diseased and get out of taking finals?” Jimmy asked. Steven shot him a warning glare. “What? Just trying to be helpful.” “And I sure as heck want to be able to fry more than a single egg,” Lenny continued. “I want to cook two! Three! Make a western omelet for when I have people over for brunch.” He pumped his fist triumphantly. “I want to change the world!” “You sound just like him,” Steven sighed. “Don’t go down this road, Lenny,” said Louise. “Too much power leaves you wanting more. It’s a dark path.” Lenny couldn’t believe what he was hearing. More power? Dark path? All he wanted was to do something useful. He didn’t want to be “superfluously gifted.” He wanted to be superbly gifted! It wasn’t much to ask. And these people weren’t offering it. They’d given up on themselves before even trying. They didn’t want to change the world; only to exist in it. Steven began speaking – something along the lines of “being extraordinarily ordinary” and “maybe try adding a little old bay seasoning before you cook it” – when Lenny spotted the rabbit peering into the basement window. He locked eyes with it, and it hopped away. “Look,” he said, cutting off Steven’s speech. “Thanks for the invite. Really. I just don’t think you can help me.” “But you haven’t even had a cookie,” Jimmy said as Lenny made his way to the stairs. “Let him go,” said Steven. “Cookie bribes are beneath us. We’ll be here when you’re ready to face your mediocrity, Lenny. Third Tuesday of every month. 7pm sharp.” “I appreciate it,” Lenny said. He passed Steven’s mom at the top of the steps and took a couple cookies at her insistence, then let himself out the front door. And there was the rabbit, sitting in the grass, scratching at its ear. So freakin’ cute! It sniffed the air and hopped into the arms of a man – hooded, and dressed all in black – who’d been kneeling behind a tree. The rabbit nuzzled against his ear, as if telling him a secret. “Rabbit Randall?” Lenny asked. “My associate tells me you’ve rejected The Super Pals’ weak offer.” He grinned wickedly. “Hand me one of Steven’s mom’s cookies, and we’ll find out just how many eggs you can scramble following the path of darkness.” Lenny grinned back. He gave Randall a cookie, then took a bite of another. “Wow. Jimmy wasn’t kidding about these cookies.” Rabbit Randall’s maniacal laughter filled the cul-de-sac.
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Have you ever slept through your alarm and had to skip breakfast? Have you ever wished for more protein in the morning than what bland oatmeal could provide? Have you ever been stranded in the woods, starving, with nothing but a raw egg? If you answered “yes” to at least one of these questions, Lenny Livingston could have helped. You see, Lenny had a superpower. …Well, it was less a superpower, and more a “specific issue resolver.” Lenny Livingston could [insert drumroll here] fry an egg under any circumstances, provided he had a frying pan handy. No, he couldn’t create fire to heat the pan. No, he didn’t have laser vision to cook the egg. And, no, he didn’t switch the uncooked egg for a fried one when you weren’t looking. He merely cracked the egg open, dropped it into the pan, and shook his fist at it threateningly. Moments later, the egg was so perfectly fried, Gordan Ramsay himself would call it “the most amazing” thing he’d ever eaten (before remarking the burnt toast that came with it was “a real shame”). I imagine some of you might be asking questions about Lenny’s power’s limits. How about an omelet? What if you wanted sunny-side up? Could he do an ostrich egg? Remember I called it a “specific issue resolver” a few paragraphs back? No omelets. No variations on preparation. Only chicken eggs. Lenny couldn’t even fry two eggs in succession. It was a once-per-day kind of power. When Lenny had first discovered the power (shaking his fist at an uncooked egg in the pan – he’d forgotten to turn the burner on) he was amazed. He replicated the feat the following day, and the day after. Then he tried experimenting. If you’ve been paying attention, you’ll have already concluded that his experiments were unsuccessful. Some people would be happy with a superpower, even with such constraints. Lenny was not. He’d tasted greatness (here referring to both his minute ability and its delicious result) and he wanted more. If only he could grow his power, think of what he could accomplish! He’d open a breakfast restaurant, for starters. Then he’d expand it. After that, eradicating world hunger would be just over the horizon. But none of this was possible until his power grew from a specific to a general issue resolver. Then, one day, after frying an egg more from frustration than because he was hungry, Lenny found a note in his pocket: TOP SECRET! You are cordially invited to join The Super Pals @ 12 Chestnut Drive, 7pm tonight. Knock three times. Tell no one. How the note had gotten into Lenny’s pocket was a mystery. He’d been home all day and hadn’t seen anyone. His pants were fresh out of the dryer. Clearly, whoever had put it there must have had some great superpower, like invisibility or super speed! At 7pm, Lenny skipped all the way to the noted address (a modest rowhome within the city) and knocked upon the door. An elderly woman in a nightgown greeted him. Not exactly the guard he’d been expecting. “I’m here to see The Super Pals,” Lenny whispered. “Eh?” the woman said. “Speak up, sonny.” Lenny cleared his throat. “The Super Pals.” “There’s a gas station down the street,” she said. “They have a commode. First stop on the trail. Restroom’s for customers only, though, so you’ll have to buy something.” “Ma!” someone from within shouted. “Who is it?” “Another pedestrian on the Pooper Trail, Steven. Never you mind. Go back to playing dragon dungeons with your friends.” “I’m here to join up,” Lenny called inside. “The Super Pals.” There was a thunderous stamping up the steps. Steven – a greasy, heavy-set fellow – appeared and pulled Lenny in. “Shh! What if someone heard you! Didn’t you read the note? Top secret!” The woman groaned. “Fine. But wash your hands when you’re done. And don’t tell me you always do. We’ll both know it’s a lie.” “We’re hungry, Ma,” said Steven. “I’ll bring you some cookies, dear,” said the woman, and she disappeared into the kitchen. Steven beckoned Lenny to follow, and led him into the basement. Four cheap lawn chairs were arranged around a collapsible brown card table (lacking cards). Two other people – a freckly, red-haired boy and a shifty-eyed woman wearing overlarge glasses – sat with their hands folded, regarding Lenny with suspicion. “This is Jimmy,” Steven said, indicating the boy, then gestured to the woman. “And that’s Louise.” Lenny shook their hands and introduced himself. “Please, sit,” said Steven. He and Lenny took the two empty chairs. “Welcome to The Super Pals.” “Wait ‘til you try one of Steve’s ma’s cookies,” Jimmy said. “They’re the whole reason I come to these meetings.” “They are divine,” Louise agreed, squinting suspiciously at the newcomer. “Can’t wait to try,” said Lenny. “And I’m happy to be here. Only, I hope there isn’t some mistake. My superpower isn’t exactly useful in fighting crime.” “We don’t fight crime.” Louise’s shifty eyes shifted to Steven. “Did you change the note I gave you?” Steven held his hands up defensively. “Snuck it into his pocket right away. If I edited it, he’d have seen me.” “Sorry, I just assumed,” said Lenny. “You are all superheroes though, right?” “We all have superpowers,” Steven said with a shrug. “So… is this a school of some kind?” Lenny asked, daring to hope. “Maybe a training program?” “We’re a support group,” said Louise. “For people with incredibly niche abilities. For instance, I can make a rose smell like a s’mores pop tart, but not the other way around.” “Once a week, I can either add or subtract a freckle from my arm,” said Jimmy. “And I can deliver messages to people’s pockets without them seeing,” Steven said proudly. “As long as they are written by someone else, and don’t have anything to do with government, military, or crime bosses.” “That sounds like it could be useful,” Lenny said. “Useful for a middle school student, maybe. Or if it was still the early 90s, before email and text messaging came to be.” They all stared at Lenny expectantly. “Oh,” he said. “I can fry one egg per day, without a heat source.” “Amazing!” said Jimmy. “That’s loads more useful than my ability!” “And mine,” Louise agreed. Lenny gave them half-a-smile. To say he was disappointed was selling his disappointment short. He was crushed. He’d really hoped to get on some kind of super squad; or at least be the cook for one. You know. Make real change in the world. “Don’t look so glum,” Steven said. “He’s allowed to feel his feelings,” Louise chided. She patted Lenny’s arm. “We’re here to support you in any way you need.” “But you’re a group of superheroes,” Lenny said. “Shouldn’t you at least have a nemesis or something?” “We’re not superheroes,” Louise said. “We prefer the term, ‘superfluously gifted.’” “And there’re no villains in our story,” added Steven. Jimmy raised his hand excitedly, as if begging for the teacher to call on him. “What about Rabbit Randall?” “Rabbit Randall isn’t our nemesis,” Louise scoffed. “Even if he claims otherwise.” “Who?” asked Lenny. “Rabbit Randall.” Steven let out a long, defeated breath. “He’s my next-door neighbor. Has the ability to make rabbits scratch their ears.” “It’s really cute,” said Jimmy. “Super cute,” agreed Louise. “We all know it’s cute!” Steven snapped. “Anyway. I invited him to our group. Very neighborly of me, I know. He was having a tougher time accepting his niche powers than we all did. Then, one day he called us all a bunch of…” Louis gave him a sympathetic smile. “You can say it, Steve. That’s why we’re here.” Steven took a shaky breath. “A bunch of losers.” “And super-zeroes,” Jimmy grunted. “So original.” “Then he went and started his own support group for people who wanted to increase their powers,” said Steven. Lenny sat up a little straighter. “Is that possible?” “Well, yeah, but at what cost?” Steven asked. “So, he can make a rabbit come sniff his finger now. So what?” “What do you mean, ‘so what?’” Lenny laughed. “Don’t you want to deliver important secret messages, Steve? And Louise, what if you could make daisies smell like Funions? And Jimmy, what if you could…uh…” “Change the color of my freckles to look diseased and get out of taking finals?” Jimmy asked. Steven shot him a warning glare. “What? Just trying to be helpful.” “And I sure as heck want to be able to fry more than a single egg,” Lenny continued. “I want to cook two! Three! Make a western omelet for when I have people over for brunch.” He pumped his fist triumphantly. “I want to change the world!” “You sound just like him,” Steven sighed. “Don’t go down this road, Lenny,” said Louise. “Too much power leaves you wanting more. It’s a dark path.” Lenny couldn’t believe what he was hearing. More power? Dark path? All he wanted was to do something useful. He didn’t want to be “superfluously gifted.” He wanted to be superbly gifted! It wasn’t much to ask. And these people weren’t offering it. They’d given up on themselves before even trying. They didn’t want to change the world; only to exist in it. Steven began speaking – something along the lines of “being extraordinarily ordinary” and “maybe try adding a little old bay seasoning before you cook it” – when Lenny spotted the rabbit peering into the basement window. He locked eyes with it, and it hopped away. “Look,” he said, cutting off Steven’s speech. “Thanks for the invite. Really. I just don’t think you can help me.” “But you haven’t even had a cookie,” Jimmy said as Lenny made his way to the stairs. “Let him go,” said Steven. “Cookie bribes are beneath us. We’ll be here when you’re ready to face your mediocrity, Lenny. Third Tuesday of every month. 7pm sharp.” “I appreciate it,” Lenny said. He passed Steven’s mom at the top of the steps and took a couple cookies at her insistence, then let himself out the front door. And there was the rabbit, sitting in the grass, scratching at its ear. So freakin’ cute! It sniffed the air and hopped into the arms of a man – hooded, and dressed all in black – who’d been kneeling behind a tree. The rabbit nuzzled against his ear, as if telling him a secret. “Rabbit Randall?” Lenny asked. “My associate tells me you’ve rejected The Super Pals’ weak offer.” He grinned wickedly. “Hand me one of Steven’s mom’s cookies, and we’ll find out just how many eggs you can scramble following the path of darkness.” Lenny grinned back. He gave Randall a cookie, then took a bite of another. “Wow. Jimmy wasn’t kidding about these cookies.” Rabbit Randall’s maniacal laughter filled the cul-de-sac.
Have you ever slept through your alarm and had to skip breakfast? Have you ever wished for more protein in the morning than what bland oatmeal could provide? Have you ever been stranded in the woods, starving, with nothing but a raw egg? If you answered “yes” to at least one of these questions, Lenny Livingston could have helped. You see, Lenny had a superpower. …Well, it was less a superpower, and more a “specific issue resolver.” Lenny Livingston could [insert drumroll here] fry an egg under any circumstances, provided he had a frying pan handy. No, he couldn’t create fire to heat the pan. No, he didn’t have laser vision to cook the egg. And, no, he didn’t switch the uncooked egg for a fried one when you weren’t looking. He merely cracked the egg open, dropped it into the pan, and shook his fist at it threateningly. Moments later, the egg was so perfectly fried, Gordan Ramsay himself would call it “the most amazing” thing he’d ever eaten (before remarking the burnt toast that came with it was “a real shame”). I imagine some of you might be asking questions about Lenny’s power’s limits. How about an omelet? What if you wanted sunny-side up? Could he do an ostrich egg? Remember I called it a “specific issue resolver” a few paragraphs back? No omelets. No variations on preparation. Only chicken eggs. Lenny couldn’t even fry two eggs in succession. It was a once-per-day kind of power. When Lenny had first discovered the power (shaking his fist at an uncooked egg in the pan – he’d forgotten to turn the burner on) he was amazed. He replicated the feat the following day, and the day after. Then he tried experimenting. If you’ve been paying attention, you’ll have already concluded that his experiments were unsuccessful. Some people would be happy with a superpower, even with such constraints. Lenny was not. He’d tasted greatness (here referring to both his minute ability and its delicious result) and he wanted more. If only he could grow his power, think of what he could accomplish! He’d open a breakfast restaurant, for starters. Then he’d expand it. After that, eradicating world hunger would be just over the horizon. But none of this was possible until his power grew from a specific to a general issue resolver. Then, one day, after frying an egg more from frustration than because he was hungry, Lenny found a note in his pocket: TOP SECRET! You are cordially invited to join The Super Pals @ 12 Chestnut Drive, 7pm tonight. Knock three times. Tell no one. How the note had gotten into Lenny’s pocket was a mystery. He’d been home all day and hadn’t seen anyone. His pants were fresh out of the dryer. Clearly, whoever had put it there must have had some great superpower, like invisibility or super speed! At 7pm, Lenny skipped all the way to the noted address (a modest rowhome within the city) and knocked upon the door. An elderly woman in a nightgown greeted him. Not exactly the guard he’d been expecting. “I’m here to see The Super Pals,” Lenny whispered. “Eh?” the woman said. “Speak up, sonny.” Lenny cleared his throat. “The Super Pals.” “There’s a gas station down the street,” she said. “They have a commode. First stop on the trail. Restroom’s for customers only, though, so you’ll have to buy something.” “Ma!” someone from within shouted. “Who is it?” “Another pedestrian on the Pooper Trail, Steven. Never you mind. Go back to playing dragon dungeons with your friends.” “I’m here to join up,” Lenny called inside. “The Super Pals.” There was a thunderous stamping up the steps. Steven – a greasy, heavy-set fellow – appeared and pulled Lenny in. “Shh! What if someone heard you! Didn’t you read the note? Top secret!” The woman groaned. “Fine. But wash your hands when you’re done. And don’t tell me you always do. We’ll both know it’s a lie.” “We’re hungry, Ma,” said Steven. “I’ll bring you some cookies, dear,” said the woman, and she disappeared into the kitchen. Steven beckoned Lenny to follow, and led him into the basement. Four cheap lawn chairs were arranged around a collapsible brown card table (lacking cards). Two other people – a freckly, red-haired boy and a shifty-eyed woman wearing overlarge glasses – sat with their hands folded, regarding Lenny with suspicion. “This is Jimmy,” Steven said, indicating the boy, then gestured to the woman. “And that’s Louise.” Lenny shook their hands and introduced himself. “Please, sit,” said Steven. He and Lenny took the two empty chairs. “Welcome to The Super Pals.” “Wait ‘til you try one of Steve’s ma’s cookies,” Jimmy said. “They’re the whole reason I come to these meetings.” “They are divine,” Louise agreed, squinting suspiciously at the newcomer. “Can’t wait to try,” said Lenny. “And I’m happy to be here. Only, I hope there isn’t some mistake. My superpower isn’t exactly useful in fighting crime.” “We don’t fight crime.” Louise’s shifty eyes shifted to Steven. “Did you change the note I gave you?” Steven held his hands up defensively. “Snuck it into his pocket right away. If I edited it, he’d have seen me.” “Sorry, I just assumed,” said Lenny. “You are all superheroes though, right?” “We all have superpowers,” Steven said with a shrug. “So… is this a school of some kind?” Lenny asked, daring to hope. “Maybe a training program?” “We’re a support group,” said Louise. “For people with incredibly niche abilities. For instance, I can make a rose smell like a s’mores pop tart, but not the other way around.” “Once a week, I can either add or subtract a freckle from my arm,” said Jimmy. “And I can deliver messages to people’s pockets without them seeing,” Steven said proudly. “As long as they are written by someone else, and don’t have anything to do with government, military, or crime bosses.” “That sounds like it could be useful,” Lenny said. “Useful for a middle school student, maybe. Or if it was still the early 90s, before email and text messaging came to be.” They all stared at Lenny expectantly. “Oh,” he said. “I can fry one egg per day, without a heat source.” “Amazing!” said Jimmy. “That’s loads more useful than my ability!” “And mine,” Louise agreed. Lenny gave them half-a-smile. To say he was disappointed was selling his disappointment short. He was crushed. He’d really hoped to get on some kind of super squad; or at least be the cook for one. You know. Make real change in the world. “Don’t look so glum,” Steven said. “He’s allowed to feel his feelings,” Louise chided. She patted Lenny’s arm. “We’re here to support you in any way you need.” “But you’re a group of superheroes,” Lenny said. “Shouldn’t you at least have a nemesis or something?” “We’re not superheroes,” Louise said. “We prefer the term, ‘superfluously gifted.’” “And there’re no villains in our story,” added Steven. Jimmy raised his hand excitedly, as if begging for the teacher to call on him. “What about Rabbit Randall?” “Rabbit Randall isn’t our nemesis,” Louise scoffed. “Even if he claims otherwise.” “Who?” asked Lenny. “Rabbit Randall.” Steven let out a long, defeated breath. “He’s my next-door neighbor. Has the ability to make rabbits scratch their ears.” “It’s really cute,” said Jimmy. “Super cute,” agreed Louise. “We all know it’s cute!” Steven snapped. “Anyway. I invited him to our group. Very neighborly of me, I know. He was having a tougher time accepting his niche powers than we all did. Then, one day he called us all a bunch of…” Louis gave him a sympathetic smile. “You can say it, Steve. That’s why we’re here.” Steven took a shaky breath. “A bunch of losers.” “And super-zeroes,” Jimmy grunted. “So original.” “Then he went and started his own support group for people who wanted to increase their powers,” said Steven. Lenny sat up a little straighter. “Is that possible?” “Well, yeah, but at what cost?” Steven asked. “So, he can make a rabbit come sniff his finger now. So what?” “What do you mean, ‘so what?’” Lenny laughed. “Don’t you want to deliver important secret messages, Steve? And Louise, what if you could make daisies smell like Funions? And Jimmy, what if you could…uh…” “Change the color of my freckles to look diseased and get out of taking finals?” Jimmy asked. Steven shot him a warning glare. “What? Just trying to be helpful.” “And I sure as heck want to be able to fry more than a single egg,” Lenny continued. “I want to cook two! Three! Make a western omelet for when I have people over for brunch.” He pumped his fist triumphantly. “I want to change the world!” “You sound just like him,” Steven sighed. “Don’t go down this road, Lenny,” said Louise. “Too much power leaves you wanting more. It’s a dark path.” Lenny couldn’t believe what he was hearing. More power? Dark path? All he wanted was to do something useful. He didn’t want to be “superfluously gifted.” He wanted to be superbly gifted! It wasn’t much to ask. And these people weren’t offering it. They’d given up on themselves before even trying. They didn’t want to change the world; only to exist in it. Steven began speaking – something along the lines of “being extraordinarily ordinary” and “maybe try adding a little old bay seasoning before you cook it” – when Lenny spotted the rabbit peering into the basement window. He locked eyes with it, and it hopped away. “Look,” he said, cutting off Steven’s speech. “Thanks for the invite. Really. I just don’t think you can help me.” “But you haven’t even had a cookie,” Jimmy said as Lenny made his way to the stairs. “Let him go,” said Steven. “Cookie bribes are beneath us. We’ll be here when you’re ready to face your mediocrity, Lenny. Third Tuesday of every month. 7pm sharp.” “I appreciate it,” Lenny said. He passed Steven’s mom at the top of the steps and took a couple cookies at her insistence, then let himself out the front door. And there was the rabbit, sitting in the grass, scratching at its ear. So freakin’ cute! It sniffed the air and hopped into the arms of a man – hooded, and dressed all in black – who’d been kneeling behind a tree. The rabbit nuzzled against his ear, as if telling him a secret. “Rabbit Randall?” Lenny asked. “My associate tells me you’ve rejected The Super Pals’ weak offer.” He grinned wickedly. “Hand me one of Steven’s mom’s cookies, and we’ll find out just how many eggs you can scramble following the path of darkness.” Lenny grinned back. He gave Randall a cookie, then took a bite of another. “Wow. Jimmy wasn’t kidding about these cookies.” Rabbit Randall’s maniacal laughter filled the cul-de-sac.
Have you ever slept through your alarm and had to skip breakfast? Have you ever wished for more protein in the morning than what bland oatmeal could provide? Have you ever been stranded in the woods, starving, with nothing but a raw egg? If you answered “yes” to at least one of these questions, Lenny Livingston could have helped. You see, Lenny had a superpower. …Well, it was less a superpower, and more a “specific issue resolver.” Lenny Livingston could [insert drumroll here] fry an egg under any circumstances, provided he had a frying pan handy. No, he couldn’t create fire to heat the pan. No, he didn’t have laser vision to cook the egg. And, no, he didn’t switch the uncooked egg for a fried one when you weren’t looking. He merely cracked the egg open, dropped it into the pan, and shook his fist at it threateningly. Moments later, the egg was so perfectly fried, Gordan Ramsay himself would call it “the most amazing” thing he’d ever eaten (before remarking the burnt toast that came with it was “a real shame”). I imagine some of you might be asking questions about Lenny’s power’s limits. How about an omelet? What if you wanted sunny-side up? Could he do an ostrich egg? Remember I called it a “specific issue resolver” a few paragraphs back? No omelets. No variations on preparation. Only chicken eggs. Lenny couldn’t even fry two eggs in succession. It was a once-per-day kind of power. When Lenny had first discovered the power (shaking his fist at an uncooked egg in the pan – he’d forgotten to turn the burner on) he was amazed. He replicated the feat the following day, and the day after. Then he tried experimenting. If you’ve been paying attention, you’ll have already concluded that his experiments were unsuccessful. Some people would be happy with a superpower, even with such constraints. Lenny was not. He’d tasted greatness (here referring to both his minute ability and its delicious result) and he wanted more. If only he could grow his power, think of what he could accomplish! He’d open a breakfast restaurant, for starters. Then he’d expand it. After that, eradicating world hunger would be just over the horizon. But none of this was possible until his power grew from a specific to a general issue resolver. Then, one day, after frying an egg more from frustration than because he was hungry, Lenny found a note in his pocket: TOP SECRET! You are cordially invited to join The Super Pals @ 12 Chestnut Drive, 7pm tonight. Knock three times. Tell no one. How the note had gotten into Lenny’s pocket was a mystery. He’d been home all day and hadn’t seen anyone. His pants were fresh out of the dryer. Clearly, whoever had put it there must have had some great superpower, like invisibility or super speed! At 7pm, Lenny skipped all the way to the noted address (a modest rowhome within the city) and knocked upon the door. An elderly woman in a nightgown greeted him. Not exactly the guard he’d been expecting. “I’m here to see The Super Pals,” Lenny whispered. “Eh?” the woman said. “Speak up, sonny.” Lenny cleared his throat. “The Super Pals.” “There’s a gas station down the street,” she said. “They have a commode. First stop on the trail. Restroom’s for customers only, though, so you’ll have to buy something.” “Ma!” someone from within shouted. “Who is it?” “Another pedestrian on the Pooper Trail, Steven. Never you mind. Go back to playing dragon dungeons with your friends.” “I’m here to join up,” Lenny called inside. “The Super Pals.” There was a thunderous stamping up the steps. Steven – a greasy, heavy-set fellow – appeared and pulled Lenny in. “Shh! What if someone heard you! Didn’t you read the note? Top secret!” The woman groaned. “Fine. But wash your hands when you’re done. And don’t tell me you always do. We’ll both know it’s a lie.” “We’re hungry, Ma,” said Steven. “I’ll bring you some cookies, dear,” said the woman, and she disappeared into the kitchen. Steven beckoned Lenny to follow, and led him into the basement. Four cheap lawn chairs were arranged around a collapsible brown card table (lacking cards). Two other people – a freckly, red-haired boy and a shifty-eyed woman wearing overlarge glasses – sat with their hands folded, regarding Lenny with suspicion. “This is Jimmy,” Steven said, indicating the boy, then gestured to the woman. “And that’s Louise.” Lenny shook their hands and introduced himself. “Please, sit,” said Steven. He and Lenny took the two empty chairs. “Welcome to The Super Pals.” “Wait ‘til you try one of Steve’s ma’s cookies,” Jimmy said. “They’re the whole reason I come to these meetings.” “They are divine,” Louise agreed, squinting suspiciously at the newcomer. “Can’t wait to try,” said Lenny. “And I’m happy to be here. Only, I hope there isn’t some mistake. My superpower isn’t exactly useful in fighting crime.” “We don’t fight crime.” Louise’s shifty eyes shifted to Steven. “Did you change the note I gave you?” Steven held his hands up defensively. “Snuck it into his pocket right away. If I edited it, he’d have seen me.” “Sorry, I just assumed,” said Lenny. “You are all superheroes though, right?” “We all have superpowers,” Steven said with a shrug. “So… is this a school of some kind?” Lenny asked, daring to hope. “Maybe a training program?” “We’re a support group,” said Louise. “For people with incredibly niche abilities. For instance, I can make a rose smell like a s’mores pop tart, but not the other way around.” “Once a week, I can either add or subtract a freckle from my arm,” said Jimmy. “And I can deliver messages to people’s pockets without them seeing,” Steven said proudly. “As long as they are written by someone else, and don’t have anything to do with government, military, or crime bosses.” “That sounds like it could be useful,” Lenny said. “Useful for a middle school student, maybe. Or if it was still the early 90s, before email and text messaging came to be.” They all stared at Lenny expectantly. “Oh,” he said. “I can fry one egg per day, without a heat source.” “Amazing!” said Jimmy. “That’s loads more useful than my ability!” “And mine,” Louise agreed. Lenny gave them half-a-smile. To say he was disappointed was selling his disappointment short. He was crushed. He’d really hoped to get on some kind of super squad; or at least be the cook for one. You know. Make real change in the world. “Don’t look so glum,” Steven said. “He’s allowed to feel his feelings,” Louise chided. She patted Lenny’s arm. “We’re here to support you in any way you need.” “But you’re a group of superheroes,” Lenny said. “Shouldn’t you at least have a nemesis or something?” “We’re not superheroes,” Louise said. “We prefer the term, ‘superfluously gifted.’” “And there’re no villains in our story,” added Steven. Jimmy raised his hand excitedly, as if begging for the teacher to call on him. “What about Rabbit Randall?” “Rabbit Randall isn’t our nemesis,” Louise scoffed. “Even if he claims otherwise.” “Who?” asked Lenny. “Rabbit Randall.” Steven let out a long, defeated breath. “He’s my next-door neighbor. Has the ability to make rabbits scratch their ears.” “It’s really cute,” said Jimmy. “Super cute,” agreed Louise. “We all know it’s cute!” Steven snapped. “Anyway. I invited him to our group. Very neighborly of me, I know. He was having a tougher time accepting his niche powers than we all did. Then, one day he called us all a bunch of…” Louis gave him a sympathetic smile. “You can say it, Steve. That’s why we’re here.” Steven took a shaky breath. “A bunch of losers.” “And super-zeroes,” Jimmy grunted. “So original.” “Then he went and started his own support group for people who wanted to increase their powers,” said Steven. Lenny sat up a little straighter. “Is that possible?” “Well, yeah, but at what cost?” Steven asked. “So, he can make a rabbit come sniff his finger now. So what?” “What do you mean, ‘so what?’” Lenny laughed. “Don’t you want to deliver important secret messages, Steve? And Louise, what if you could make daisies smell like Funions? And Jimmy, what if you could…uh…” “Change the color of my freckles to look diseased and get out of taking finals?” Jimmy asked. Steven shot him a warning glare. “What? Just trying to be helpful.” “And I sure as heck want to be able to fry more than a single egg,” Lenny continued. “I want to cook two! Three! Make a western omelet for when I have people over for brunch.” He pumped his fist triumphantly. “I want to change the world!” “You sound just like him,” Steven sighed. “Don’t go down this road, Lenny,” said Louise. “Too much power leaves you wanting more. It’s a dark path.” Lenny couldn’t believe what he was hearing. More power? Dark path? All he wanted was to do something useful. He didn’t want to be “superfluously gifted.” He wanted to be superbly gifted! It wasn’t much to ask. And these people weren’t offering it. They’d given up on themselves before even trying. They didn’t want to change the world; only to exist in it. Steven began speaking – something along the lines of “being extraordinarily ordinary” and “maybe try adding a little old bay seasoning before you cook it” – when Lenny spotted the rabbit peering into the basement window. He locked eyes with it, and it hopped away. “Look,” he said, cutting off Steven’s speech. “Thanks for the invite. Really. I just don’t think you can help me.” “But you haven’t even had a cookie,” Jimmy said as Lenny made his way to the stairs. “Let him go,” said Steven. “Cookie bribes are beneath us. We’ll be here when you’re ready to face your mediocrity, Lenny. Third Tuesday of every month. 7pm sharp.” “I appreciate it,” Lenny said. He passed Steven’s mom at the top of the steps and took a couple cookies at her insistence, then let himself out the front door. And there was the rabbit, sitting in the grass, scratching at its ear. So freakin’ cute! It sniffed the air and hopped into the arms of a man – hooded, and dressed all in black – who’d been kneeling behind a tree. The rabbit nuzzled against his ear, as if telling him a secret. “Rabbit Randall?” Lenny asked. “My associate tells me you’ve rejected The Super Pals’ weak offer.” He grinned wickedly. “Hand me one of Steven’s mom’s cookies, and we’ll find out just how many eggs you can scramble following the path of darkness.” Lenny grinned back. He gave Randall a cookie, then took a bite of another. “Wow. Jimmy wasn’t kidding about these cookies.” Rabbit Randall’s maniacal laughter filled the cul-de-sac.
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Have you ever slept through your alarm and had to skip breakfast? Have you ever wished for more protein in the morning than what bland oatmeal could provide? Have you ever been stranded in the woods, starving, with nothing but a raw egg? If you answered “yes” to at least one of these questions, Lenny Livingston could have helped. You see, Lenny had a superpower. …Well, it was less a superpower, and more a “specific issue resolver.” Lenny Livingston could [insert drumroll here] fry an egg under any circumstances, provided he had a frying pan handy. No, he couldn’t create fire to heat the pan. No, he didn’t have laser vision to cook the egg. And, no, he didn’t switch the uncooked egg for a fried one when you weren’t looking. He merely cracked the egg open, dropped it into the pan, and shook his fist at it threateningly. Moments later, the egg was so perfectly fried, Gordan Ramsay himself would call it “the most amazing” thing he’d ever eaten (before remarking the burnt toast that came with it was “a real shame”). I imagine some of you might be asking questions about Lenny’s power’s limits. How about an omelet? What if you wanted sunny-side up? Could he do an ostrich egg? Remember I called it a “specific issue resolver” a few paragraphs back? No omelets. No variations on preparation. Only chicken eggs. Lenny couldn’t even fry two eggs in succession. It was a once-per-day kind of power. When Lenny had first discovered the power (shaking his fist at an uncooked egg in the pan – he’d forgotten to turn the burner on) he was amazed. He replicated the feat the following day, and the day after. Then he tried experimenting. If you’ve been paying attention, you’ll have already concluded that his experiments were unsuccessful. Some people would be happy with a superpower, even with such constraints. Lenny was not. He’d tasted greatness (here referring to both his minute ability and its delicious result) and he wanted more. If only he could grow his power, think of what he could accomplish! He’d open a breakfast restaurant, for starters. Then he’d expand it. After that, eradicating world hunger would be just over the horizon. But none of this was possible until his power grew from a specific to a general issue resolver. Then, one day, after frying an egg more from frustration than because he was hungry, Lenny found a note in his pocket: TOP SECRET! You are cordially invited to join The Super Pals @ 12 Chestnut Drive, 7pm tonight. Knock three times. Tell no one. How the note had gotten into Lenny’s pocket was a mystery. He’d been home all day and hadn’t seen anyone. His pants were fresh out of the dryer. Clearly, whoever had put it there must have had some great superpower, like invisibility or super speed! At 7pm, Lenny skipped all the way to the noted address (a modest rowhome within the city) and knocked upon the door. An elderly woman in a nightgown greeted him. Not exactly the guard he’d been expecting. “I’m here to see The Super Pals,” Lenny whispered. “Eh?” the woman said. “Speak up, sonny.” Lenny cleared his throat. “The Super Pals.” “There’s a gas station down the street,” she said. “They have a commode. First stop on the trail. Restroom’s for customers only, though, so you’ll have to buy something.” “Ma!” someone from within shouted. “Who is it?” “Another pedestrian on the Pooper Trail, Steven. Never you mind. Go back to playing dragon dungeons with your friends.” “I’m here to join up,” Lenny called inside. “The Super Pals.” There was a thunderous stamping up the steps. Steven – a greasy, heavy-set fellow – appeared and pulled Lenny in. “Shh! What if someone heard you! Didn’t you read the note? Top secret!” The woman groaned. “Fine. But wash your hands when you’re done. And don’t tell me you always do. We’ll both know it’s a lie.” “We’re hungry, Ma,” said Steven. “I’ll bring you some cookies, dear,” said the woman, and she disappeared into the kitchen. Steven beckoned Lenny to follow, and led him into the basement. Four cheap lawn chairs were arranged around a collapsible brown card table (lacking cards). Two other people – a freckly, red-haired boy and a shifty-eyed woman wearing overlarge glasses – sat with their hands folded, regarding Lenny with suspicion. “This is Jimmy,” Steven said, indicating the boy, then gestured to the woman. “And that’s Louise.” Lenny shook their hands and introduced himself. “Please, sit,” said Steven. He and Lenny took the two empty chairs. “Welcome to The Super Pals.” “Wait ‘til you try one of Steve’s ma’s cookies,” Jimmy said. “They’re the whole reason I come to these meetings.” “They are divine,” Louise agreed, squinting suspiciously at the newcomer. “Can’t wait to try,” said Lenny. “And I’m happy to be here. Only, I hope there isn’t some mistake. My superpower isn’t exactly useful in fighting crime.” “We don’t fight crime.” Louise’s shifty eyes shifted to Steven. “Did you change the note I gave you?” Steven held his hands up defensively. “Snuck it into his pocket right away. If I edited it, he’d have seen me.” “Sorry, I just assumed,” said Lenny. “You are all superheroes though, right?” “We all have superpowers,” Steven said with a shrug. “So… is this a school of some kind?” Lenny asked, daring to hope. “Maybe a training program?” “We’re a support group,” said Louise. “For people with incredibly niche abilities. For instance, I can make a rose smell like a s’mores pop tart, but not the other way around.” “Once a week, I can either add or subtract a freckle from my arm,” said Jimmy. “And I can deliver messages to people’s pockets without them seeing,” Steven said proudly. “As long as they are written by someone else, and don’t have anything to do with government, military, or crime bosses.” “That sounds like it could be useful,” Lenny said. “Useful for a middle school student, maybe. Or if it was still the early 90s, before email and text messaging came to be.” They all stared at Lenny expectantly. “Oh,” he said. “I can fry one egg per day, without a heat source.” “Amazing!” said Jimmy. “That’s loads more useful than my ability!” “And mine,” Louise agreed. Lenny gave them half-a-smile. To say he was disappointed was selling his disappointment short. He was crushed. He’d really hoped to get on some kind of super squad; or at least be the cook for one. You know. Make real change in the world. “Don’t look so glum,” Steven said. “He’s allowed to feel his feelings,” Louise chided. She patted Lenny’s arm. “We’re here to support you in any way you need.” “But you’re a group of superheroes,” Lenny said. “Shouldn’t you at least have a nemesis or something?” “We’re not superheroes,” Louise said. “We prefer the term, ‘superfluously gifted.’” “And there’re no villains in our story,” added Steven. Jimmy raised his hand excitedly, as if begging for the teacher to call on him. “What about Rabbit Randall?” “Rabbit Randall isn’t our nemesis,” Louise scoffed. “Even if he claims otherwise.” “Who?” asked Lenny. “Rabbit Randall.” Steven let out a long, defeated breath. “He’s my next-door neighbor. Has the ability to make rabbits scratch their ears.” “It’s really cute,” said Jimmy. “Super cute,” agreed Louise. “We all know it’s cute!” Steven snapped. “Anyway. I invited him to our group. Very neighborly of me, I know. He was having a tougher time accepting his niche powers than we all did. Then, one day he called us all a bunch of…” Louis gave him a sympathetic smile. “You can say it, Steve. That’s why we’re here.” Steven took a shaky breath. “A bunch of losers.” “And super-zeroes,” Jimmy grunted. “So original.” “Then he went and started his own support group for people who wanted to increase their powers,” said Steven. Lenny sat up a little straighter. “Is that possible?” “Well, yeah, but at what cost?” Steven asked. “So, he can make a rabbit come sniff his finger now. So what?” “What do you mean, ‘so what?’” Lenny laughed. “Don’t you want to deliver important secret messages, Steve? And Louise, what if you could make daisies smell like Funions? And Jimmy, what if you could…uh…” “Change the color of my freckles to look diseased and get out of taking finals?” Jimmy asked. Steven shot him a warning glare. “What? Just trying to be helpful.” “And I sure as heck want to be able to fry more than a single egg,” Lenny continued. “I want to cook two! Three! Make a western omelet for when I have people over for brunch.” He pumped his fist triumphantly. “I want to change the world!” “You sound just like him,” Steven sighed. “Don’t go down this road, Lenny,” said Louise. “Too much power leaves you wanting more. It’s a dark path.” Lenny couldn’t believe what he was hearing. More power? Dark path? All he wanted was to do something useful. He didn’t want to be “superfluously gifted.” He wanted to be superbly gifted! It wasn’t much to ask. And these people weren’t offering it. They’d given up on themselves before even trying. They didn’t want to change the world; only to exist in it. Steven began speaking – something along the lines of “being extraordinarily ordinary” and “maybe try adding a little old bay seasoning before you cook it” – when Lenny spotted the rabbit peering into the basement window. He locked eyes with it, and it hopped away. “Look,” he said, cutting off Steven’s speech. “Thanks for the invite. Really. I just don’t think you can help me.” “But you haven’t even had a cookie,” Jimmy said as Lenny made his way to the stairs. “Let him go,” said Steven. “Cookie bribes are beneath us. We’ll be here when you’re ready to face your mediocrity, Lenny. Third Tuesday of every month. 7pm sharp.” “I appreciate it,” Lenny said. He passed Steven’s mom at the top of the steps and took a couple cookies at her insistence, then let himself out the front door. And there was the rabbit, sitting in the grass, scratching at its ear. So freakin’ cute! It sniffed the air and hopped into the arms of a man – hooded, and dressed all in black – who’d been kneeling behind a tree. The rabbit nuzzled against his ear, as if telling him a secret. “Rabbit Randall?” Lenny asked. “My associate tells me you’ve rejected The Super Pals’ weak offer.” He grinned wickedly. “Hand me one of Steven’s mom’s cookies, and we’ll find out just how many eggs you can scramble following the path of darkness.” Lenny grinned back. He gave Randall a cookie, then took a bite of another. “Wow. Jimmy wasn’t kidding about these cookies.” Rabbit Randall’s maniacal laughter filled the cul-de-sac.
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I never thought I’d cheat. But when my next-door neighbor fucked me in his garage like I was the only woman alive, I realized how starved I was. My husband hadn’t touched me like that in years. I was drowning in guilt… until I found out the neighbor’s secret: a daily pheromone formula that turns regular men into the primal, high-drive version women can’t resist. I bought it for my husband as a “vitamin.” Now he fucks me like we’re newlyweds again. I feel desired. Craved. Alive. I’m still ashamed of what I did. But I’m sharing this anonymously so other wives don’t make the same mistake. Don’t cheat. Fix it at home. Get him on this before it’s too late. Your marriage — and your sex life — will never be the same. https://get.norrelabs.com/testLander
I never thought I’d be the kind of woman who would even think about cheating. But last summer, at 3:17 on a random Tuesday afternoon, I found myself in my neighbor’s garage with my skirt around my waist and my heart pounding so hard I thought I might pass out. His hands felt different. Stronger. Hungrier. Like he actually wanted me the way my husband used to want me on our honeymoon. When he finished I just stood there shaking, ashamed, but also more satisfied than I’d been in years. My husband hadn’t fucked me like that since the week we got married. That night I cried in the shower until the water went cold. I hated myself. I hated how desperate I felt. I hated that I was even capable of doing that to the man I still loved. But I also couldn’t stop thinking about how alive I felt for those fifteen minutes. The next few weeks I avoided my neighbor like the plague. Until one evening his wife was out of town and he knocked on my door with a six-pack and that same cocky smile. We didn’t even make it to the couch. Afterwards, while I was pulling my clothes back on, I asked him the question that had been burning in my brain. “Why are you like this? My husband is a good man… he tries… but he’s never been this… this intense with me. Not even in the beginning.” He laughed, a little embarrassed, and walked over to his kitchen counter. He picked up a plain white bottle with no flashy label. “Because of this,” he said. He told me it was a pheromone formula from some small lab. Not the cheap cologne stuff you spray on. These are internal — you take them daily and they change the way you smell, the way your body signals, the raw masculine energy women pick up on before they even realize it. He said it ramps up natural testosterone response, confidence, and that primal “I need you right now” drive that most married men lose after a few years. I laughed at first. Sounded like bullshit. But then I remembered how my body had reacted to him the first time — like some invisible magnet I couldn’t fight. And how my husband, the man I promised forever to, now felt… safe. Comfortable. Familiar. Two days later I ordered my own bottle. Not for me — for my husband. I told him it was a new men’s multivitamin for energy. He rolled his eyes but took it because he hates when I worry. Week one: He started waking up hard again. Like actually hard. The kind of morning wood I hadn’t seen since our twenties. Week two: He came up behind me while I was doing dishes and pressed against me the way he used to. No asking. Just took what he wanted. I almost dropped the plate. Week three: We had sex three times in one weekend. On the kitchen counter. In the shower. And once on the living room floor like teenagers who couldn’t wait. I felt desired again. Craved. Hunted. But every time he fell asleep afterwards I lay there staring at the ceiling, sick with guilt about what I’d done with the neighbor. I’m writing this anonymously because I’m still ashamed. I almost threw away my marriage for fifteen minutes of something I should have had at home the whole time. If you’re a wife reading this and you feel that slow death in the bedroom… if your husband tries but it’s just not the same… if you’ve started noticing other men more than you want to admit… Don’t do what I did. Don’t risk everything because you’re starving for the kind of raw, primal desire you deserve from the man you married. Get him on the pheromones instead. The same formula that turned my boring, comfortable husband back into the man who makes my knees weak. The one who now looks at me like he wants to devour me. I don’t know exactly how it works. Something about amplifying his natural scent signature and testosterone signaling so my body responds on a biological level before my brain even catches up. All I know is it brought my husband back — the real version of him. And I will never take that for granted again. If your marriage feels like it’s slowly dying in the bedroom, give this a shot before you do something you can’t take back. I promise you — the man you fell in love with is still in there. He just needs the right trigger. I put the link below. Use it. Save your marriage the way I saved mine. And please… don’t make my mistake. — A Wife Who Almost Lost Everything P.S. My husband still doesn’t know what he’s actually taking. He just knows his wife can’t keep her hands off him again. And honestly? That’s exactly how I want it. https://get.norrelabs.com/testLander
On Christmas, Tessa Preston gets an unexpected call from her estranged father inviting her home for dinner. She arrives alone with gifts, while her three powerful sons plan to join later. The moment she steps inside, her stepmother and step-siblings mock her "poverty" and try to humiliate her—unaware of the strength and influence her sons truly hold.
Have you ever slept through your alarm and had to skip breakfast? Have you ever wished for more protein in the morning than what bland oatmeal could provide? Have you ever been stranded in the woods, starving, with nothing but a raw egg? If you answered “yes” to at least one of these questions, Lenny Livingston could have helped. You see, Lenny had a superpower. …Well, it was less a superpower, and more a “specific issue resolver.” Lenny Livingston could [insert drumroll here] fry an egg under any circumstances, provided he had a frying pan handy. No, he couldn’t create fire to heat the pan. No, he didn’t have laser vision to cook the egg. And, no, he didn’t switch the uncooked egg for a fried one when you weren’t looking. He merely cracked the egg open, dropped it into the pan, and shook his fist at it threateningly. Moments later, the egg was so perfectly fried, Gordan Ramsay himself would call it “the most amazing” thing he’d ever eaten (before remarking the burnt toast that came with it was “a real shame”). I imagine some of you might be asking questions about Lenny’s power’s limits. How about an omelet? What if you wanted sunny-side up? Could he do an ostrich egg? Remember I called it a “specific issue resolver” a few paragraphs back? No omelets. No variations on preparation. Only chicken eggs. Lenny couldn’t even fry two eggs in succession. It was a once-per-day kind of power. When Lenny had first discovered the power (shaking his fist at an uncooked egg in the pan – he’d forgotten to turn the burner on) he was amazed. He replicated the feat the following day, and the day after. Then he tried experimenting. If you’ve been paying attention, you’ll have already concluded that his experiments were unsuccessful. Some people would be happy with a superpower, even with such constraints. Lenny was not. He’d tasted greatness (here referring to both his minute ability and its delicious result) and he wanted more. If only he could grow his power, think of what he could accomplish! He’d open a breakfast restaurant, for starters. Then he’d expand it. After that, eradicating world hunger would be just over the horizon. But none of this was possible until his power grew from a specific to a general issue resolver. Then, one day, after frying an egg more from frustration than because he was hungry, Lenny found a note in his pocket: TOP SECRET! You are cordially invited to join The Super Pals @ 12 Chestnut Drive, 7pm tonight. Knock three times. Tell no one. How the note had gotten into Lenny’s pocket was a mystery. He’d been home all day and hadn’t seen anyone. His pants were fresh out of the dryer. Clearly, whoever had put it there must have had some great superpower, like invisibility or super speed! At 7pm, Lenny skipped all the way to the noted address (a modest rowhome within the city) and knocked upon the door. An elderly woman in a nightgown greeted him. Not exactly the guard he’d been expecting. “I’m here to see The Super Pals,” Lenny whispered. “Eh?” the woman said. “Speak up, sonny.” Lenny cleared his throat. “The Super Pals.” “There’s a gas station down the street,” she said. “They have a commode. First stop on the trail. Restroom’s for customers only, though, so you’ll have to buy something.” “Ma!” someone from within shouted. “Who is it?” “Another pedestrian on the Pooper Trail, Steven. Never you mind. Go back to playing dragon dungeons with your friends.” “I’m here to join up,” Lenny called inside. “The Super Pals.” There was a thunderous stamping up the steps. Steven – a greasy, heavy-set fellow – appeared and pulled Lenny in. “Shh! What if someone heard you! Didn’t you read the note? Top secret!” The woman groaned. “Fine. But wash your hands when you’re done. And don’t tell me you always do. We’ll both know it’s a lie.” “We’re hungry, Ma,” said Steven. “I’ll bring you some cookies, dear,” said the woman, and she disappeared into the kitchen. Steven beckoned Lenny to follow, and led him into the basement. Four cheap lawn chairs were arranged around a collapsible brown card table (lacking cards). Two other people – a freckly, red-haired boy and a shifty-eyed woman wearing overlarge glasses – sat with their hands folded, regarding Lenny with suspicion. “This is Jimmy,” Steven said, indicating the boy, then gestured to the woman. “And that’s Louise.” Lenny shook their hands and introduced himself. “Please, sit,” said Steven. He and Lenny took the two empty chairs. “Welcome to The Super Pals.” “Wait ‘til you try one of Steve’s ma’s cookies,” Jimmy said. “They’re the whole reason I come to these meetings.” “They are divine,” Louise agreed, squinting suspiciously at the newcomer. “Can’t wait to try,” said Lenny. “And I’m happy to be here. Only, I hope there isn’t some mistake. My superpower isn’t exactly useful in fighting crime.” “We don’t fight crime.” Louise’s shifty eyes shifted to Steven. “Did you change the note I gave you?” Steven held his hands up defensively. “Snuck it into his pocket right away. If I edited it, he’d have seen me.” “Sorry, I just assumed,” said Lenny. “You are all superheroes though, right?” “We all have superpowers,” Steven said with a shrug. “So… is this a school of some kind?” Lenny asked, daring to hope. “Maybe a training program?” “We’re a support group,” said Louise. “For people with incredibly niche abilities. For instance, I can make a rose smell like a s’mores pop tart, but not the other way around.” “Once a week, I can either add or subtract a freckle from my arm,” said Jimmy. “And I can deliver messages to people’s pockets without them seeing,” Steven said proudly. “As long as they are written by someone else, and don’t have anything to do with government, military, or crime bosses.” “That sounds like it could be useful,” Lenny said. “Useful for a middle school student, maybe. Or if it was still the early 90s, before email and text messaging came to be.” They all stared at Lenny expectantly. “Oh,” he said. “I can fry one egg per day, without a heat source.” “Amazing!” said Jimmy. “That’s loads more useful than my ability!” “And mine,” Louise agreed. Lenny gave them half-a-smile. To say he was disappointed was selling his disappointment short. He was crushed. He’d really hoped to get on some kind of super squad; or at least be the cook for one. You know. Make real change in the world. “Don’t look so glum,” Steven said. “He’s allowed to feel his feelings,” Louise chided. She patted Lenny’s arm. “We’re here to support you in any way you need.” “But you’re a group of superheroes,” Lenny said. “Shouldn’t you at least have a nemesis or something?” “We’re not superheroes,” Louise said. “We prefer the term, ‘superfluously gifted.’” “And there’re no villains in our story,” added Steven. Jimmy raised his hand excitedly, as if begging for the teacher to call on him. “What about Rabbit Randall?” “Rabbit Randall isn’t our nemesis,” Louise scoffed. “Even if he claims otherwise.” “Who?” asked Lenny. “Rabbit Randall.” Steven let out a long, defeated breath. “He’s my next-door neighbor. Has the ability to make rabbits scratch their ears.” “It’s really cute,” said Jimmy. “Super cute,” agreed Louise. “We all know it’s cute!” Steven snapped. “Anyway. I invited him to our group. Very neighborly of me, I know. He was having a tougher time accepting his niche powers than we all did. Then, one day he called us all a bunch of…” Louis gave him a sympathetic smile. “You can say it, Steve. That’s why we’re here.” Steven took a shaky breath. “A bunch of losers.” “And super-zeroes,” Jimmy grunted. “So original.” “Then he went and started his own support group for people who wanted to increase their powers,” said Steven. Lenny sat up a little straighter. “Is that possible?” “Well, yeah, but at what cost?” Steven asked. “So, he can make a rabbit come sniff his finger now. So what?” “What do you mean, ‘so what?’” Lenny laughed. “Don’t you want to deliver important secret messages, Steve? And Louise, what if you could make daisies smell like Funions? And Jimmy, what if you could…uh…” “Change the color of my freckles to look diseased and get out of taking finals?” Jimmy asked. Steven shot him a warning glare. “What? Just trying to be helpful.” “And I sure as heck want to be able to fry more than a single egg,” Lenny continued. “I want to cook two! Three! Make a western omelet for when I have people over for brunch.” He pumped his fist triumphantly. “I want to change the world!” “You sound just like him,” Steven sighed. “Don’t go down this road, Lenny,” said Louise. “Too much power leaves you wanting more. It’s a dark path.” Lenny couldn’t believe what he was hearing. More power? Dark path? All he wanted was to do something useful. He didn’t want to be “superfluously gifted.” He wanted to be superbly gifted! It wasn’t much to ask. And these people weren’t offering it. They’d given up on themselves before even trying. They didn’t want to change the world; only to exist in it. Steven began speaking – something along the lines of “being extraordinarily ordinary” and “maybe try adding a little old bay seasoning before you cook it” – when Lenny spotted the rabbit peering into the basement window. He locked eyes with it, and it hopped away. “Look,” he said, cutting off Steven’s speech. “Thanks for the invite. Really. I just don’t think you can help me.” “But you haven’t even had a cookie,” Jimmy said as Lenny made his way to the stairs. “Let him go,” said Steven. “Cookie bribes are beneath us. We’ll be here when you’re ready to face your mediocrity, Lenny. Third Tuesday of every month. 7pm sharp.” “I appreciate it,” Lenny said. He passed Steven’s mom at the top of the steps and took a couple cookies at her insistence, then let himself out the front door. And there was the rabbit, sitting in the grass, scratching at its ear. So freakin’ cute! It sniffed the air and hopped into the arms of a man – hooded, and dressed all in black – who’d been kneeling behind a tree. The rabbit nuzzled against his ear, as if telling him a secret. “Rabbit Randall?” Lenny asked. “My associate tells me you’ve rejected The Super Pals’ weak offer.” He grinned wickedly. “Hand me one of Steven’s mom’s cookies, and we’ll find out just how many eggs you can scramble following the path of darkness.” Lenny grinned back. He gave Randall a cookie, then took a bite of another. “Wow. Jimmy wasn’t kidding about these cookies.” Rabbit Randall’s maniacal laughter filled the cul-de-sac.
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TI'm 71 years old and last March, in the council by-election, I ticked the box next to a man I have publicly disliked for twelve years. I didn't mean to. I couldn't see properly. THIS IS THE PROBLEM THAT OPTOMETRISTS DON'T TEST FOR. The polling station was the church hall in our village. I walked in knowing exactly who I was voting for — Carol Pemberton, the Independent, who's actually done something for our high street. I took my pencil to that little wooden booth, looked down at the ballot paper, and the names were so small in that dim light I had to GUESS which line was which. I ticked the second box from the top. Folded it. Posted it. Walked out. Halfway home it hit me. Carol was the THIRD name on the ballot. Not the second. I'd voted for HIM. The Conservative. The man whose campaign I'd stuck a "VOTE ANYONE ELSE" leaflet against on my own front door. I couldn't go back. Once it's in the box, it's in the box. He won. By 38 votes. I have lived in this village for 41 years and I have never told a soul about that day. Until now. After just ONE WEEK wearing VisionPro auto-adjusting glasses, I went into the post office and read the entire Northumberland Gazette without holding it under a lamp. I read the village notice board on my way back. I read the bus timetable for the first time in three years. The dim-light squinting that turned my eyes into watery slits? COMPLETELY GONE. The constant feeling that small print was DELIBERATELY DESIGNED to defeat me? DISAPPEARED. The shameful business of pretending I could read things in front of other people? OVER. My next-door neighbour Joan — 68, sharp as a tack — saw me reading her granddaughter's birthday card without holding it at arm's length and asked what on earth had changed. I told her about the polling booth. She cried, because she'd done almost the same thing on her absentee ballot last May. The secret BAVARIAN OPTICAL BREAKTHROUGH behind VisionPro uses sliding lens technology that ADJUSTS AUTOMATICALLY between distances, even in poor light, so your eyes don't have to gamble. Standard eye tests check ONE distance under bright clinical lighting. They DON'T test how your eyes cope in a dim village hall, with a tiny pencil, holding paper that you can't bring closer because there's a queue behind you! Optometrists keep this quiet because their reading glasses don't help in low light — and that's not a problem they can sell you a "fix" for! Get yours while you still can! Learn More 👇 VisionPro is seamlessly invisible. No lines. No segments. No one knows but you. Same vision correction. Modern appearance.
TI'm 71 years old and last March, in the council by-election, I ticked the box next to a man I have publicly disliked for twelve years. I didn't mean to. I couldn't see properly. THIS IS THE PROBLEM THAT OPTOMETRISTS DON'T TEST FOR. The polling station was the church hall in our village. I walked in knowing exactly who I was voting for — Carol Pemberton, the Independent, who's actually done something for our high street. I took my pencil to that little wooden booth, looked down at the ballot paper, and the names were so small in that dim light I had to GUESS which line was which. I ticked the second box from the top. Folded it. Posted it. Walked out. Halfway home it hit me. Carol was the THIRD name on the ballot. Not the second. I'd voted for HIM. The Conservative. The man whose campaign I'd stuck a "VOTE ANYONE ELSE" leaflet against on my own front door. I couldn't go back. Once it's in the box, it's in the box. He won. By 38 votes. I have lived in this village for 41 years and I have never told a soul about that day. Until now. After just ONE WEEK wearing VisionPro auto-adjusting glasses, I went into the post office and read the entire Northumberland Gazette without holding it under a lamp. I read the village notice board on my way back. I read the bus timetable for the first time in three years. The dim-light squinting that turned my eyes into watery slits? COMPLETELY GONE. The constant feeling that small print was DELIBERATELY DESIGNED to defeat me? DISAPPEARED. The shameful business of pretending I could read things in front of other people? OVER. My next-door neighbour Joan — 68, sharp as a tack — saw me reading her granddaughter's birthday card without holding it at arm's length and asked what on earth had changed. I told her about the polling booth. She cried, because she'd done almost the same thing on her absentee ballot last May. The secret BAVARIAN OPTICAL BREAKTHROUGH behind VisionPro uses sliding lens technology that ADJUSTS AUTOMATICALLY between distances, even in poor light, so your eyes don't have to gamble. Standard eye tests check ONE distance under bright clinical lighting. They DON'T test how your eyes cope in a dim village hall, with a tiny pencil, holding paper that you can't bring closer because there's a queue behind you! Optometrists keep this quiet because their reading glasses don't help in low light — and that's not a problem they can sell you a "fix" for! Get yours while you still can! Learn More 👇 VisionPro is seamlessly invisible. No lines. No segments. No one knows but you. Same vision correction. Modern appearance.
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"Mom, why is Auntie Neighbor wearing your pearls while Dad kisses her chest in the shed?" I was pulling into our driveway when my six-year-old, Lily, pressed her face against my car window. “What did you say, baby?” “Auntie Linda has your shiny necklace. The one from Grandma. Dad said not to tell.” My hands froze on the steering wheel. The air in the car turned thick and wrong. “Mike? Linda?” Lily pointed toward the wooden shed behind our garage. “They’re in there. Dad locked the door but I saw through the crack.” My feet moved before my brain caught up. Each step on the gravel felt like walking through wet cement. The shed door had a new padlock. Since when? I yanked the handle. Nothing. “Mike! Open the door!” Muffled sounds. A zipper. Then his voice: “Sarah? What the hell? Give me a minute.” “Open it. Now.” Thirty seconds of silence. Then the lock clicked. Mike stood there, shirt untucked, sweat on his forehead. Behind him, our next-door neighbor Linda adjusted her blouse. Around her neck—my grandmother’s pearls. The ones I wore at our wedding. “It’s not what you think,” Mike said, holding up both palms. “Linda’s AC went out. She came over to borrow a fan.” Linda laughed—a sharp, nervous bark. “Sarah, honey, you know how hot these Carolina summers get. I was just thanking Mike for helping out.” “Thanking him with my pearls?” My voice came out flat. Robotic. Mike stepped toward me, hands reaching for my shoulders. “Babe, you’re overreacting. She saw the necklace on the dresser and tried it on. Just girl stuff. I was showing her the lawnmower.” “With your tongue down her throat?” Linda’s smile dropped. “Excuse me? Your daughter has an overactive imagination. Maybe you should teach her not to spy on adults.” “She’s six.” “Exactly. Six-year-olds lie.” Linda crossed her arms. The pearls caught the sunlight. “Look, Sarah, I get it. You’re a stay-at-home mom with a GED. No career. No life outside these four walls. But don’t take your insecurity out on Mike.” GED. The word hit like a slap. Mike sighed—that patronizing sound he used when I questioned his 8 PM “work calls.” “Sarah, go inside. Make Lily a snack. We’ll talk about your jealousy later.” “Jealousy.” “You’ve been paranoid since your mom died. I get it. Grief does things. But accusing Linda? She’s been our neighbor for ten years.” Linda stepped closer, her perfume cloying. “I’m sorry if I caused a problem. Let me just give back the necklace.” Her fingers went to the clasp. But Mike put a hand on her arm. “Keep it. Consider it a gift for putting up with this drama.” The air left my lungs. “Those were my grandmother’s.” “And they’ve been sitting in your jewelry box collecting dust for five years.” Mike’s eyes went cold. “Linda actually appreciates nice things. Unlike some people who hide in this house all day watching Hallmark movies.” I looked at my husband. At Linda’s smug face. At the pearls that should’ve been mine. Then I remembered something. Something they didn’t know. Those pearls have a second clasp. A tiny camera I installed last month after I found the hotel receipt. I smiled. “You’re right, Mike. I’ve been paranoid. I’m sorry.” Both of them blinked. “Really?” Linda’s hand went to her throat. “Really.” I turned toward the house. “Lily and I will make lemonade. Why don’t you two finish… whatever you were doing?” I didn’t wait for an answer. Behind me, I heard Mike whisper, “See? Told you she’d back down.” Oh, honey. You have no idea what you just handed me. You won't believe what I found when I downloaded the footage. The full story is now live on our page. Follow us to read the rest and stay updated daily.
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☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆ The Latin Vibe is a fabulous new monthly Salsa party brought to you by Nicolai V and iSalsa. "It's all about that Latin Vibe!" ☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆ After the immense success of our official launch Latin Vibe party in April... we are looking forward to the May edition with much excitement! ☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆ If you want top notch teachers and djs...a great mix of Salsa with other Latin rhythms too... and a fabulous gathering of dancers and lovers of Latin music brought together in a fantastic, fun, friendly, totally awesome party atmosphere... then the Latin Vibe is the place for you! ☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆ ☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆ THE LATIN VIBE MAY PARTY: Sat 16th May @ the Penta Hotel, Reading ☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆ Special guest teachers: Eşref Parranda Ulaş (aka DJ MUZU) and Chunky. Plus Nicolai & the LV team. Special guest DJs: DJ Muzu, DJ Ed & DJ Chunky Doors open at 7pm. Then after a brief warm up, the Salsa classes start at 7.30pm with our special guest teachers Eşref Parranda Ulaş & Chunky alongside Nicolai and the team. Then our djs... Dj Muzu, Dj Ed and DJ Chunky... will spin top Salsa tunes (with a sprinkling of other Latin rhythms, like Bachata, Cha Cha or Merengue) to create the perfect dancers paradise! ☆☆☆We now have 2 HOURS of classes!☆☆☆ Here’s the rundown... 7pm doors open: Warm up with Nicolai, Eşref, Chunky et al! 7.30pm: 3 x classes: Beginners Salsa pt 1 with Nicolai. Improver Cross Body Salsa with Chunky. Cuban Salsa/Rueda pt 1 with Eşref. 8.30pm: 3 x classes: Beginners pt 2 with Nicolai. Intermediate Cross Body Salsa with Chunky. Rueda de Casino pt 2 with Eşref. 9.30pm to 1am: Salsa Party! Entry: £15 - Classes and Party £10 - Party only ( Pay by cash or card/phone on the door) Student discount available. 16th May 2026 @ The Penta Hotel, Oxford Road, Reading, RG1 7RH *For queries or further info contact Nicolai: 07931 308761/ nicolaivsalsa@gmail.com *Here's a link for the iSalsa and Latin Vibe WhatsApp group... join up!... https://chat.whatsapp.com/ImpB4MCuUKAAAbgLCGhd9t *Check us out on Meetup: The Latin Vibe - Reading https://www.meetup.com/the-latin-vibe-reading ☆AND REMEMBER... NICOLAI'S SALSA SURGERY EVERY THURSDAY @ THE PENTA HOTEL TOO!☆ *Scroll down for info about our teachers/djs.* *Parking: You can get a 40% discount at the Q-Park on Chatham Road, just a 3-minute walk from the hotel. To claim your discounted parking, you’ll need to book in advance. Visit q-park.co.uk, search for Reading (Chatham Place) car park, and enter the discount code PENTA40 when booking. Or you can use the Broad Street Mall car park, which is next-door: Broad Street Mall, Broad Street Centre, Reading RG1 7QE Night Rate: £4.10 (6pm – 8am). Info: https://www.reading.gov.uk/.../broad-street-mall-car-park/ ☆☆☆☆☆Eṣref Parranda Ulaṣ☆☆☆☆☆ Eṣref Parranda Ulaṣ (a.k.a DJ Muzu) is a beloved figure in the Latin dance community, known for his infectious energy, vibrant personality, and deep passion for music and movement. As an all-round dance instructor, he skillfully teaches Salsa, Bachata, Merengue, Rueda De Casino, Son and Cha-cha-cha and many more inspiring dancers of all levels with his clear guidance and joyful approach. Not only a sought-after teacher, Eṣref is also famous behind the decks as DJ Muzu, spinning irresistible Latin beats that fill dance floors across the scene. His intuitive feel for the crowd and seamless blend of classic and modern tracks make him a popular DJ wherever he plays. He's also well-known internet radio DJ runs weekly programmes on Bar Latina Radio. A true dancer at heart, Eṣref brings authenticity, rhythm, and fun to everything he does—whether leading a class, performing on stage, or creating the perfect vibe at a party. His versatility, charm, and boundless energy have made him one of the most well-loved artists in the Latin dance world. ☆☆☆☆☆DJ Ed☆☆☆☆☆ DJ Ed is famous for running Red Hat Salsa for around 30 years. He is known equally for being a great teacher and a great dj. His knowledge of Salsa music is 30 years strong so expect to hear some classic tunes. ☆☆☆☆☆Chunky☆☆☆☆☆ Chunky's classes are lively and fun, centring around breaking down the most difficult moves, techniques and components into manageable chunks, and linking them seamlessly to look and feel very fluid. He is renowned for his cheeky charm, bad jokes and blocking the exit so you have to stay and dance at least a few tracks to practise. The perfect combo of solid technical tuition and endless fun! ☆☆☆☆☆☆Rebecca Brandi☆☆☆☆☆☆ Rebecca Brandi started dancing Ballroom & Latin when she was 7, along the way she delved into commercial, jazz, contemporary and ballet. She deepen her studies at Kingston University where she studied BA Honours Dance. Following her University assignments she chose to research Bachata, which pushed her to fall into Salsa and completely fall in love with Cuban Salsa, but above all Afro Cuban. She studied Afro Cuban in Cuba for 2 weeks with Luanda Pau. After her graduating she started competing in Sasha Philips’ Salsa team across the world, moving to Rome to study with Angelo Rito to now where she flys on dance contracts as a solo dancer, recently coming back from a dance contract in Morocco.
On Christmas, Tessa Preston gets an unexpected call from her estranged father inviting her home for dinner. She arrives alone with gifts, while her three powerful sons plan to join later. The moment she steps inside, her stepmother and step-siblings mock her "poverty" and try to humiliate her—unaware of the strength and influence her sons truly hold.
Seid Ihr bereit für die sechste Runde unserer Strahlunger Meile? Vorbeikommen und mitfeiern 🎊– wir freuen uns auf Euch! Hier bekommt Ihr bereits einen Überblick darüber, was Euch erwartet: - Luckys GOOD STUFF Duo mit romantischer Beleuchtung des Ortskerns (Sa ab 20 Uhr) und 2_nextdoor (So ab 17 Uhr) 🎉 - neue Stage an den Weinkellern mit Alleinunterhalter Mark aus der Pfalz (Sa ab 18 Uhr) und "Schmetz" (So 16 - 18 Uhr) - Kunst- und Kunsthandwerkermarkt (Sa. 15 – 19 Uhr und So. 10:30 – 17 Uhr) Genussmeile mit: - Weißwürste (So ab 10:30 Uhr) 🥨 - Geräucherte Forelle 🦐 - Grillwagen und Pommesstand 🍟🥩 - Hähnchengrill (Vorbestellung vor Ort) - Metzgerei Glasauer mit Strahlunger Meilenburger vom Rhöner Angus Rind, Beef Brisket und Pork Belly Sandwich - Flammkuchenstand im Café Glücksmomente 🍕 - Kaffeebar mit selbstgebackenen Torten und Kuchen 🍰🧁 - Urige Gewölbekeller mit Schnapsverkostung und Mostaussschank - Leckere Cocktails & Spritzgetränken an der Natursteinbar der steinbachgruppe 🍹 - zwei Weinbars der Weingüter Schmitt (Bergtheim), Nüßlein (Zeil am Main) und natürlich Strahlunger Wein 🍷 - Kinderkarusell und Minibagger für Kinder (Sa und So); Eiswagen Sa und So🍦 - Strahlunger Musikanten Sa 16:30 Uhr und Promiband So ab 14 Uhr
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I’m completely free! 😏
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