Thursday, 19 November 2009

Rack off Lancelot….

So, I had this man tell me today that he basically saved me. Uh huh... really? How so Lancelot? If you believe his dramatic take on events – which I don’t but I am thinking of using in a book – he fell on his sword for me. Oh honey, if you fall on your sword you’re just plain clumsy and don’t tell me it was in the name of gallantry. I never needed saving and frankly I was just doing fine without you.

This man had his own agenda and for some reason he thought I would be all grateful to him for this piss weak venture into soap opera fiction on my behalf…hmmm…I don’t think so. Don’t get me wrong – if someone helps me or stands by me I have this mafia like loyalty to them forever but try to dazzle me with bullshit and I’ll call you on it – which I did today and gee, no, he didn’t try to save me at all….but that’s another blog.

You know, I like men…they’re this odd species that we deal and live with and find strangely compelling to watch and listen to sometimes. But no woman needs a Lancelot. We can save ourselves. If we need help we’ll ask. And no woman needs a man telling them he charged in to save her cellulite arse when there was no danger to it at all. Is it a need a man has to receive gratitude and be praised? If so put the toilet seat down, Lancelot...good boy.
Be an Amarinda book


Sandra Cox said...

Hmmm, I'd like to hear that story.
LOVE that pic.