Somewhere between the ages of 5 and 10, I had a bracelet. Well, to be honest, my oldest sister had the bracelet. I just borrowed it on occasion. It was a cuff-type bracelet; about two inches wide in faux silver finish and open in the back so you could squeeze your wrist into it. Whenever I managed to get my grubby childhood paws on the bracelet, this magical thing would happen where I would throw my arms out and spin in place in a circle. And then, miraculously, I could stop bullets with that bracelet. And hop into a jet that no one else could see and fly away to rescue mankind.