Knights in Shining Armor

I’ve never understood why women my age gawk, drool, and scream about ‘knights in shining armor’ with their pristine white steeds. What, to them, is the appeal of a sweaty, grunting man who parades around in a flashy, (yet oh so clunky) ironclad uniform. I mean really, doesn’t that seem the slightest bit impractical to you? In the heat of the moment that is battle, how would you run? That’s another thing— I don’t find foolishness attractive either. A man who’s willing to run straight into a fray he knows he cannot survive to ‘impress the young maiden’… that seems more stressful than striking. I don’t need that in my life.

I need someone who I know will come home to me, help me around the tiny house we call home, and listen to me prattle on about how I pricked my thumb on a thorn bush. Someone more interested in the ‘guts and glory’ side of life does not seem to fit that criterion. Oftentimes, I don’t want solutions. I just want a man who will listen to me and snuggle me when I weep away the hours I spent perfecting my makeup that evening. The thing about men is, that they have nothing to cuddle. Sure they have rippling, endless muscle to do away with the more taxing household chores, but where is the soft skin? Where is the curvature of their bodies, the forms that fit mine?— Even the soft touch that says ‘I understand you.’

Nowadays, I wonder where I ought to find it. With what little knowledge I possess on what man could retain such qualities, I catch my eyes wandering in a direction I wasn't expecting— a woman.

I know what you're thinking— “Liane, a woman? That's preposterous!” I promise you, though, it isn't. What better person to understand you than someone who survives the exact life that you do? No more disappointing and mind-numbing nights alone, even with another body pressed against yours. To feel the warmth of someone’s skin that blushes the same arrays of pinks and reds, like a bundle of roses that bloomed just for you. Watching them grow, and live, or even breathe alongside you knowing that, ‘Hey, I'm with someone who feels the same as me,’ ... Isn't that what we all want? Exactly, so what made all of us decide it had to be /men/ to fill that void? Be it some kind of primordial desire or programming, it's never too late to breach the fields of what we see as an ‘abhorred’ or ‘abnormal’ and finally, take into our hands what we all truly desire-- a fulfilling kind of lover we can wake up and breathe into their waiting, dove soft skin--

“You, are my knight in shining armor.”

Nobody ever said we couldn’t love each other. I don’t understand why women my age will throw themselves at someome who has had it all— equality, understanding, wealth, power— and does nothing worthwhile with it all, over someone who would take an inch and turn it into the best stretch of a mile you’ve ever seen. Be it a form of hatred or even a form of punishment, I don’t think I’ll ever understand it. I would much rather be hated and comfortable than accepted and trying to crawl out of my own skin. Be not afraid of who I am, and be loved as though the world was lit ablaze and I, in all my fragility, was the one thing that could ever douse the roaring flames that ate away at their life.

In short, I do fantasize about being a princess. I do fantasize about being a damsel rescued by someone in that, while still highly impractical, ironclad suit. It’s just not in a way everyone sees as ‘right’ or ‘just’— I don’t care about all that, though. You, my good reader, may keep your bloodied swords and world of dullness. However, me? I’ll trade all that away for a life chalk full of tenderness, bleeding with colors I’ve never seen in my fantasy world of roses.