When I was 7 years old, I decided I was Wonder Woman. I spent months running around in Lynda Carter's trademark onsie with aluminum foil for cuffs and a lasso of truth fashioned from a bathrobe belt. Much to my mother's chagrin, I refused to speak to anybody unless addressed by the superheroine title. Not a totally unreasonable girl, I eventually compromised with my mother to let others outside of our home refer to me by Diana (which eventually morphed into Diane) - WonderWoman's alter ego. To make a long story short, I eventually had to have my middle name legally changed to Diane. A permanent token of the alter ego which defined me in my formidable years. I am definitely no super hero, but I still look up to the butt-kicking female crusader as an ideal. I'm still hoping for an invisible jet. Or at least to fly first class.