Every morning I spend about 10 minutes trying to adjust the temperature of my shower head to that magic fraction of a centimeter on the dials between Death Ray and Freeze Beam I call the habitable zone. Today I was running late and didn’t have the time to zero in on the right temperature, so I chose to be flash-fried rather than risk hypothermia. After about five minutes of standing in what I imagine to be a few degrees removed from the surface of the Sun, I turned it off and emerged. I stepped out and looked at myself in the mirror. I was a giant lobster of a man. Standing there in my 72 degree apartment, I was billowing steam like a plate of dumplings freshly removed from a boiling pot. I proceeded to the bedroom creating a trail of steam in my wake as if I were a train chugging through the countryside. I hastily put on some random clothes, not paying attention to the fact that every article was wrinkled. In the next two minutes of brushing my teeth and combing my hair, my clothes unwrinkled themselves. I then realized I no longer needed an iron. I was in fact, Iron Man.