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.

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