One of the things I loved about watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer (besides the fact that it was awesome), was that it was a show about a teeny, tiny, sweet-faced little blonde girl who could kick your ever-loving ass. Buffy could walk down a dark alley in the deepest recesses of Danger Town, balancing a perfectly cooked medium-rare steak on one palm and a $100 bill on the other, and emerge out the other side…a little mussed, perhaps, and maybe without the steak, but that’s only because it got in the way when she was in the process of destroying all monsters. Girlfriend was tough, and strong, and quick, and girlfriend was safe.
That’s the real sticking point. She was safe. She could go anywhere, and do anything, and always feel absolutely secure and completely confident that she could smack anything down. It makes me wish I had Fists of Fury and Feet of Ferocity and big, bitey teeth that will give you rabies and maybe also a broadsword. Failing that, I could work toward becoming a martial artiste. And I will not go for cardio kickboxing, or karate (which I did as a child, and earned a yellow belt in, and has left me barely able to break a pencil). No, I will take up a deadly martial art, a martial art of doom. I will learn to kill an attacker with the crook of my pinky! I will be feared in criminal circles! I will have excellent cardiovascular health, and no fear.