I’ve always had that fantasy of turning into the incredible Hulk.

My girlfriend says she would let me beat someone up for her.

I am so sorry to have to respond to this wish with a humble offer of kicking her opponent in the shin. Then running away. I’m a fast runner.

I am told, however, that, on a good day, I can look fairly mean. Strangely, it has brought me my fair share of positive attention in the past, from potential lovers who foresaw much promise in my general demeanour. Perverts. Games aside, I also have to admit, at the risk of sounding like some psycho on the loose, that I have in the past physically dented two assholes that had gingerly overstepped the mark – but I knew them, so that was different.
And now, Girlfriend would like me to be the physically assertive type.
I don’t really know what to do about that.
I do tend to avoid conflict with strangers, especially if it involves potential tooth loss. Furthermore, on my days of depleted hubris, of which there are many, I almost wish she would protect me from, let’s say, the obnoxious teenagers crowding the top decks of the London buses. She seems to have a nearly endless supply of cutting repartees, whereas I am good at thinking something up much, much later, when it’s too late. Around here, her accent is also far cooler than mine; I can’t help but think that it helps. She’d be a much better fighter, too.
I hope she’ll make do with a dour expression.