Letter From a Romantic Feminist
You are not greater than me and for that I am not sorry but satisfied (and oddly disappointed.) Brother’s Grimm taught me you are to be strong and heroic. Disney said if I am faced with something scary you will surely come to my rescue. There you will appear at that moment of crisis riding your muscled stallion, sword in hand, effortlessly sporting tousled hair and chiseled features.
Turns out they were wrong. Beautiful and well intentioned you are, but just as susceptible as me – to human error, emotion, fear.
Dear man, I’m sorry I judge you harshly against false notions.
I’ve held it against you at times – your periodic lack of heroics, absence of poetry, gallantry and the like.
But I’ve learned I am strong. If a challenge comes down the pike, I will fight with you. I do not need you but I choose you as my comrade. Survive without you I can, although I prefer not – for my heart may be lost without you.
And when you happen to save me and I, on occasion, fall into the role of maiden – I will not pull up my britches in protest. But I will relish in that moment of fairy tale bliss, knowing all the while I’m saving you with my kiss.