As I may have mentioned, my family visited last weekend. Monday I got a series of messages saying that a member of my family had 1) left a laptop at their hotel, and 2) arranged for me to collect it and ship it to them.
This resulted in me driving up to a hotel in the middle of yesterday afternoon, approaching the front desk, and asking for The Item that Dolores was holding for me. Dolores came from the back. I examined the package. Signed for it. I then turned to the front desk and used their shipping services to send the package on to its destination.
I tweeted, during this, that my errands made me feel like Natasha Romonov, aka The Black Widow.
I did not tweet that I felt like James Bond. Fifteen, twenty years ago, I might have. Fifteen, twenty years ago, the only super-spy my brain might have been able to come up with on short notice might well have been 007. I don’t read or watch a ton of spy genre stuff; I only really know what the general culture knows.
Yesterday, I thought of Natasha. Because our general popular culture now has at the very least one badass female super-spy for me to pretend to be while I’m filling out a FedEx form in the middle of the afternoon.