While the knights and men of the kingdom went out on my hunt, I got to spend three days doing whatever I wanted. And what did I want? Peace and quiet. I surely didn't want to be propositioned for anonymous sex, I can tell you that much. It seems like everywhere I go women are just throwing themselves at me. Hello, does an oath of chastity mean anything these days? I guess that's what I get after volunteering to be in all those knight of the month calendars, but how could I pass up being Mr. December? There's no better Christmas present than these good looks, it's the gift that keeps on giving for Christ's sake! Shit. I'll have to confess that one.
So there I am on Monday morning. It's almost noon, who cares? I was sitting in bed not doing a damn thing when this woman walks in. She's gorgeous; tall, strawberry hair, most of her teeth and with breasts of the purest... rich like... uh... they were pretty cool. She was also the wife of one of the dear huntsmen. Great guy. She comes over and, without any small talk about the weather, immediately professes her lust for me and her desire to take me to the stables, sheath excalibur, other blatant sexual innuendos. What torture. Not only is she married to Robert, one of my high school rugby teammates, but she lusts for me. LUSTS.
You know me, diary, I'm not a lust guy. I'm love or nothing. Either way, she was determined. I was the great Gawain, after all; a man who's looks, courtship and virtue were known far and wide. I wish I was known for my interpretive dance, but sex appeal is good enough, I guess. It took me hours, but I was finally able to convince her that I was not worth the blemish on her marital vows. She had to have something, though, and before she got up, started to kiss me. I'm not proud of this, but I kissed her back, because what was I gonna do, not?
After that I get on with my very important and rudely interrupted plan to sit on my ass all day until dinner. Then, at night, the men get back, they throw me a feast, yadda, yadda, yadda. At least I was able to put off Bob's wife, right? Wrong. Each of the next two mornings she comes back into my room begging me yet again. Lady, if you're that pent up, just fantasize while reading 50 Shades or something, sheesh.
Luckily for me, I'm a master not only in swordplay, but wordplay. I'm not going to lie to you, diary, it wasn't easy. The third morning she went all out: a jeweled hairnet, her finest and most revealing gown, she was reading me like a book. Nonetheless, I was able to keep her at bay once again, though this time she demanded a three kisses and a gift. A gift? What do I look like, a Disney store? When I told her I had no gift that would match her value of grace, she was unbothered. First she tried to give me her ring. I declined partly because I'm not a huge ring guy and partly because I think Bob bought it for her. She wouldn't let me leave without anything, so she gave me her girdle. Weird gift, right? Well it gets even weirder. She says that it grants the power of immortality to the wearer. Now, I'm not usually one to trust the words of a scorned lover, but I'm also kinda in desperate need of some immortality, so I took it and went on my merry way, hunts haul by my side the very next morning. Worst comes to worst I can re-gift it, I guess.
Well, that's all I have, diary, thanks for listening. It's not like you really had a choice, what with being an inanimate organization of tree byproducts, but I appreciate it nonetheless. Gee, I really hope archeology isn't invented because I sure wouldn't want any sick future-perverts getting their hands on you and besmirching my good name.
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