The Continuing Adventures of Tornado Girl
Dear Diary,
I love being a Superheroine. Hey, it’s great – except for the Secret Identity part. -- Wendy Wiggins aka Tornado Girl
Everyone knows it’s Windy. Or is it Wendy? Actually, it was better if everyone didn’t know – after all, what was the use of a secret identity if it wasn’t secret? Who’s twisting down the streets of the city? The song continued, slightly altered, in Wendy’s mind. The song helped her swing. With a good rhythm, she could swing for hours. Leaning back and laughing (the boss liked it when the girls laughed gaily), she propelled the swing forward, flying over the heads of the patrons. Glancing down, she saw a man’s bald head; he didn’t look up – he was more intent on his t-bone than her fishnetted thighs. How could that be? She had great legs. Ask Atom Man. Oops, she wasn’t supposed to think about TG – That Girl. Not while she was Wendy Wiggins, demure old-fashioned Topeka Steak House swing girl.
Some kids were throwing French Fries at her. And Windy has stormy eyes! She suddenly dodged a salt shaker that had been hurled like a missile. Even as Wendy Wiggins, she still had her cyclonic reflexes. Yow! That ketchup squirted all over her shoes – good thing the shoes were red. The brats were hooting like gibbons. With one quick move (quicker than the eye could see) she dropped down so that she suspended herself from the swing and began to spin. And instead of a saloon girl on a swing, there was a blur -- sort of a purple green blur. Suddenly, everyone had to duck and cover to avoid flying saucers and spinning bottles. Twisting and twirling herself into a Hoover of a tornado, she swept the restaurant clean. Real clean. Tornado Girl prided herself on not leaving a trail of debris.
And Wendy has wings to fly above the clouds. The storm had passed. Somewhere out on the edge of town, people were picking themselves up off the ground, brushing food and broken crockery off their clothes and wondering how the heck they got there. The bald man looked for what was left of his steak; the kids were going to have a long walk home without shoes. Wendy was back on the swing, back in her beehive wig and gingham petticoats. She laughed gaily – new customers were coming into the restaurant, happy to find empty tables.