Yes, I am in fact a superhero who wears tweed. Just because I am compelled to combat the forces of evil and rescue oppressed citizens, doesn’t mean I cannot look good while doing it. Today, I shall tell you of my strenuous battle with my familiar foe, the great gatsbinator… I received a call about 4:00 A.M. The mayor was on the tweed phone. “Tweed-man! We are in trouble and I ain’t got no idea what we’re gonna do!” At that moment I knew he had been taken captive by my perpetual foe. He had the tell-tale signs of… Double Negatives!!! I rushed to the tweed-mobile, where I sank into my vintage 1941 burgundy leather seats, and had a cup of fine Columbian coffee. Then, I got back out and walked across the street to the mayor’s office. I burst through the door with catlike agility. (Catlike in the sense of extreme agility and admirable poise, not referencing the gluttonous behavior and rotund physique of some fat felines.) Instantly, my witty brain concocted the perfect hero phrase, “Tweed Time!” Ok, maybe not perfect, but it did the job… Suddenly, from a dark corner leaped my old foe. (By old, I am referencing our lengthy opposition, not his physical age of course.) He was dark, yet shimmering. He had purple eyes the color of blue sapphires. He held in his hand the weapon of choice for all anti-tweediness… A houndstooth fedora… He put it on and sprang at me with all the power of a perpetually perturbed pachyderm and vigorously moved his hands in front of his face with intimidating looks penetrating my heart from his purple-red eyes. “Shall we dance?” I asked. (A phrase that is cliché, I know, but nonetheless effective.) “Tango or foxtrot?” He asked. “Actually, I was considering the waltz.” I replied. “Impossible, we have no Mozart for accompaniment.” He said with a look of victory. “Well, since you speak the truth, let’s just fight.” I said with finality. He sprang at me again. Move by move and blow by blow we fought with sensational stamina for 31 minutes and three seconds. I finally landed a perfect blow to his left earlobe, and he fell to the ground writhing in pain. “Now, it’s time to see who you really are!” I exclaimed. I peeled off his hideous leather mask to find that he was none other than… My trusty sidekick, tweed-girl. “Tweed-girl! I thought we were on the same team!” I cried. “We are.” She said. “The mayor is our real enemy.” I turned and saw the mayor taking off his face. (This is a figure of speech of course. It was a mask made of skin-like latex. It would be preposterous for him to actually remove his face. Preposterous and painful.) He was… A werewolf!!!! He punched the wall and created a large, gaping hole, out of which he removed two large mice and then ate them with remarkable dexterity. Then all three of us went to get coffee and lemon scones………..