The server arrived at my table holding the leash of a young woman otherwise clad only in lingerie and leather straps. The young woman knelt next to my chair and looked up at me with eyes of pure devotion. Above her, the server held out the leash for me to take. With a frazzled sigh, she exhaled, “Sorry, we were out of cheesesteak, so we brought you a sub.”
I placed my hand on my new submissive’s head, where her thrumming enthusiasm was plain to feel, and I couldn’t help but smile. I had never been more pleased with my superpower. No one here knew that I was none other than the Prefixer, and my cosmic gift was the ability to swap items that share abbreviations.
Tomorrow, when my arch-nemesis goes in for his monthly cognitive behavioral therapy, he will learn to never cross me again.