When I was eight, a friend from school invited me to a Halloween party. I was psyched. Brazil is known for Carnival, football and women, but definitely NOT Halloween parties, which is stupid if you ask me. Halloween is like Carnival with candy.  I mean, seriously, Brazil, get a grip.

Anyway, I was running around and screaming like a crazy person, because that girl was quite popular and I was a total nerd. Please keep in mind those were the old days, when being a nerd was equal to having leprosy. 

But soon I started freaking out. What costume should I choose?

Now, I was a really weird kid. You know how most girls played with Barbies and My Little Ponies? I had Mutant Ninja Turtles’ action figures (Leonardo and Michelangelo actually), and I kindda had a crush on Leonardo. That’s how weird I was: I bordered on awkwardness.

On a side note, I think my childhood must have been a super fun experience for my Mom.

Anyway. While I dreamed of being Batman and defending Gotham city from the scum that infested it, other girls prepared for motherhood with dolls that pooped and peed, which is so insane that I can’t even. I mean, how screwed-up is that?

At some point in time, some dumb-ass sitting in a high chair thought that, “Girls need to be prepared for their one and only role in our society: being mothers. And mothers looooooove cleaning poop, right? Of course they do.”

You, sir, are an asshole.
But I digress.

So, I told Mom what I wanted for a costume.

“What about Poison Ivy?” she asked. “You could go as Poison Ivy.”

I shook my head, arms crossed.

“Okay, I know: Batgirl.” Mom pushed. “She’s so pretty, sweetheart.”

Head shake again.

“How about Catwoman? She’s powerful and strong.”

“Moooom,” I whined.

Mom sighed, either in annoyance or exasperation, maybe both. “Fine.”

***

On that Halloween evening, I rang the doorbell. When the popular girl’s Mom opened the door, she came across a figure. A symbol. A myth.

She bent over her knees and asked, “Oh, and what are you supposed to be, dear?”

I spread my bat wings wide and said in a low voice, “Lady, I’m your worst nightmare.”

I never returned to that house again. It might have been the fact that I propped myself on a table at the corner of the room and watched everyone from the shadows.

Joke’s on them because no criminal dared defy THE BATMAN that night.