Once upon a time, in the far away land of Charm City, I dated a guy who owned a sword. This was not just any sword, no–it was a magical sword sworn to protect me from intruders (I suggested that a baseball bat would be more appropriate, but was quickly told that I “don’t know anything about anything”). So, he became my knight. Ah me, young love.
The castle he rented was….quaint. It was also filthy and hot, so hot that we had to sleep naked. The entire place smelled like a stinky cat farm, but I didn’t mind because I loved him so and knew (imagined) that some day we would get married and move to a larger, more majestic castle in Suburbia–a land rumored to have little to no sightings of crack whores. There, so I’m told, I would never again have to hear the neighbor beating his wife, nor would I have to see a prostitute give a 9 am blowjob. It sounded like a dream come true and with him, it was going to be great.
One HOT summer night, as my naked knight snored soundly next to me, I awoke to a rustling in the room. I looked around, but saw nothing. Then I heard it again. Suddenly, my knight sat up and whispered, “don’t move.” He grabbed his sword and swiftly thrust it into the pile of clothes and other shit he had lying around.
He turned on the light and there he stood, completely nude, with a BIG mouse on the edge of his sword. I screamed. It was the most disgusting thing I have ever seen in my life. It was hardly heroic. We didn’t even get to ride off into a sunset or anything. That evening, I learned that I don’t and will never need a knight–I need cleanliness and modern strategies for catching/removing city creatures.
That happened ages ago. We broke up and life moved on. Whenever I see him in my neighborhood, a breeze of nostalgia uneasily moves through me, but then I remember times like that night. I am happier now, and hey, the house I bought in Hampden doesn’t smell like a stank ass cat farm. Bonus.