To a Knight

I’ve so often been perplexed by the fascination women seem to have with Knights and armor. Maybe ‘cause I knew I never had any. I had a catcher’s chest protector once, and a cup but that’s about all I can remember.
Then it struck me, like a jousting staff square in the sternum- women love knights in armor because the armor hides the men completely. There’s only a set of eyes peering from the depth of that steel shell. A woman’s whole imagination can define the contents of that shiny exoskeleton. He is every shape that she imagines. He’s olive tanned or pale and pasty, whatever floats her boat. Reality has virtually no bearing on the actual contents of the casement. His words are always sweet and soft because yelling inside a mostly enclosed helmet can be quite deafening. I know because I got my football helmet stuck on backwards once and had to call for help.
Because a good knight always has a staff of polishers he invariably looks his best, while the rest of us are left to comb our own hair or dream of combing it.
He’s only on a horse because he has a freakin’ crane to set him in the saddle. I’ve seen the Court Jester.
Knock him off and watch how graceful and charming he his trying to merely stand erect unassisted.
I know, I know it’s the chivalrous, come and save me from my fears thing they’ll say is what they truly want. Trouble is that most of the time I think it’s manhood, antiwomanhood, that they fear. Kinda weird but true.

Don’t respond to this because it only took 4 minute to write and it is unworthy of comment fair maiden…