20th century misfit

‘’why aren’t there more guys like you?’’- these words have been echoed around my head many a time. the first incident of this nature was merely 11 years ago. Who was amazing lucky women you may ask…well, she went by the name Illana Jacobs. She truly was the most perfect, dainty, blue eyed angel I had even laid my eyes upon. The radiance of her smile that escaped from the gates of heaven light up the morning sky as would to sun.
It was 12:30 the official nap time, and as I peered across the battle field of a classroom I saw that my princess was having trouble with her zipper from the other side of the wall. I walked over as gallant as a knight to save my damsel in distress. upon my success over the crisis I was expecting a thank you of sort maybe a kiss on the cheek from my wife to be, but rather I was left wounded by the weapon that bore the words-‘’why aren’t there more guys like you?’’
Over the years many a girl walked into my life, all only to take the left turn to Friendship Street as soon as they saw the gallant, chivalrous and gentlemanly landscape that was me. After being pulled aside and asked what their motif behind this was, they answered that they were not evading the destination, they would rather be able to always know that that gallant, chivalrous landscape will always be there, their view of it never changing. Always having it there even if it is just superficial and in the distance. Upon investigation it might sink beneath the surface as did Atlantis.
Deeper investigation revealed that women are confined by the drug induced coma sold to them by society. In the era we live in today we are told that treating a women right is crazy. We are told that caring about their feelings makes one a misfit. I mean hell, if one dares break the holy laws of society and not allowing ones self to get caught in the flood of the societal drug called normality, effects being the emotional abuse and misuse of women, this would label one a misfit for life, a bystander on the side of the road watching everything flow downstream while deciding to walk upstream. Surely that makes one a rebel of sort.
The societal drug I speak of immunizes women of chivalry and respect to such an extent that it is considered dead. In that care one should call us few crazy misfits and rebels zombies of chivalry. Due to the generalization of all men being womanizers with hearts cast of tungsten, all men are labeled. Yet the only reason this misconduct and abuse took place is due to the women’s choice of turning left away from the oasis in the desert of men that they chose to call a mirage. The two roads I speak of can be placed into context easily. Road one, turning left, is a South African Road. This road is in bad condition and there are extremely high safety risks that one takes driving that road every single day. Yet when traveling this route one only needs to stop at a gas station, someone will fill your tank up with fuel for you. This allows women to hide in the safety and sanctity of their cars. Road two is a European road. Maintained and well looked after it is a safe road with very little risk being taken during ones travels. Only setback being that women will need to get out of their impenetrable bunkers of pity and self-doubt making themselves vulnerable to the outside world. Allowing the world to see more than just a glimpse of their faces through the window as they come and go.
Women would rather stay hidden and continue their use of the societal drug which tightens its clench with every stop at the fuel station. The popularity and status evoked by the drug has women between a rock and a hard spot. Due to this women choose to overlook the fact that they are becoming prisoners confined to the fortified walls one calls a home. Being expected to cook and clean and look after the kids as well as be on the wardens beckoning call to perform your womanly duties.

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