Supersuit

As I was driving home with Meg and Ev this afternoon, it hit me. We had stopped to fill up the ever-thirsty suburban (which made so much sense when I was hauling four little people around, but now, not so much) and Ev began grousing about being denied a Sonic stop. Never mind that I had offered to buy her a drinky-winky at the gas station. Never mind that a coke is not a necessity of life. Ev's complaining made no sense at all and yet it bothered me. Really bothered me. Inordinately so.

And that's when I realized: I've lost my supersuit.

I used to have one. I used to be able to deflect criticism and guilt. I used to be impervious to the heat of other people's expectations and manipulations. I used to be bulletproof and disappointments would simply bounce off. But not any more. Now everything feels like a direct hit.

"This soup is missing something." Wham.
"Where's the bacon?" Ouch.
"Gwen should be the CEO of some company." Kerpow.
"Can we change plans?" Oof.
"I don't have clean football clothes." Kablam.
"We didn't save you a seat." Ack.

My brain tells me these are nothing, certainly not mortal wounds; but without my supersuit, each incident hits hard and leaves a mark. So how do I get it back? Where do you go to find a supersuit? I don't know, but I need to locate one fast.

Where is my supersuit?