Again About Boys

I do not believe in white knights.

Or, more accurately, I do not believe that every knight I meet will be white- in fact, most of them are going to be dingy or even coal black. And while there are white knights are out there (they better be, if they know what's good for them), I think they have better things to do then come fight whatever dragon I've managed to acquire (let's say student loans, since those are the dragons I can see coming up on the horizon- and they sure look hungry- but that's a different post) and rescue my screaming self from my enchanted tower. (Or abduct. It's amazing how many heroic deeds are actually wrong. Go figure.)

And so, since I have no interest in a dingy knight, because I've noticed that dinginess is catching, I have considered what I should do to acquire a white one. (Since I'm not always very white myself, I'll settle for creamy off-white, but only if he has aspirations to true whiteness.) I haven't really gotten far on that, but I have gone to considerable lengths to define my own brand of cream.

My cream-with-aspirations-to-white knight must know how to fix a toilet, because I don't. And he should know how to take care of his charger (car) because while I plan to learn basic car maintenance myself, it would be embarrassing for both of us if I had to change his oil.

He must have a sense of humor, and moreover, it must be a sense of humor that I can appreciate and that appreciates mine, because I refuse to spend eternity with someone who still thinks "knock, knock" is in any way funny. I'm picky that way.

He must be chivalrous. I don't mind taking care of myself, but watching the Principal taking care of the Teacher has led me to set a high standard. Anyway, he can't be a knight and be unchivalrous. Not a cream-with-aspirations-to-white knight.

He must be practical. It would be really annoying if I married someone who refused to see the benefits of a coffin in the living room. Also, I'm a planner. My plans often fall through, but the Teacher will agree that the best way to make me mad is to forget to tell me that I have a commitment until the last minute. I like plans. I like to know what's next. And I want to marry someone willing to plan for the future with me, instead of someone who's going to be an unwilling dead weight every step of the way.

He needs to be easily pleased, but I suspect that this one will take care of itself. Only an easily pleased person would be in any way attracted to me (who can whirl around in purple fairy wings in front of three hundred people and not mind because I'm blowing bubbles).

He can NOT be a picky eater. I refuse to put up with that. Period. I don't mind if there's something he can't stand- the way I can't stand pickles- but I refuse to keep a list of foods that he won't eat just because they look funny.

And he needs to be smart. Because we would both be miserable if I was smarter than him.

He needs to be encouraging of my dream to be an author. He can't be one of those people who tell me that writing is a nice hobby, but I shouldn't get too serious about it, because the publishing industry is impossible to get into, because it doesn't pay much/anything/enough to live, because it's a worthless use of a lifetime, because it doesn't serve anybody, and because I should focus on having lots of kids or whatever else they consider more important.

I plan to dedicate my first book: "To everyone who promised me I couldn't do this: watch me." Because yes, I'm snotty. And come to think of it, the people who tell me all this are almost always relatives. My reluctance to go to huge family reunions begins to make more sense.

And yes, Young Women's was about looking for your eternal companion. How did you guess?