The Lady-Knight’s Armor


“Aren’t you cold?” I asked. I was seven.

A woman–she wasn’t seven–was wearing tights. She also had on lipstick.

“Not a bit,” she boasted.

I was cold. It was winter. I even had peed in my snow pants. Yet now, that too, had grown cold.

“Why not?” I asked.

The woman shrugged. She was smoking. The lipstick ate at the end of her cigarette. “Tights are a woman’s armor. Wearing them, nothing can touch us, not even the cold.”

I looked closely at the tights, held out my hand. She smacked it away.

“And you never touch a woman’s tights.” She coughed. She walked off, not shivering a bit.

I thought about it all day. I wondered if police officers wore tights underneath their uniforms. Soldiers too, I thought, later, undressing.

I went to Mother’s room. I found her tights in a drawer mixed in with bras and panties. Thinking—or, well, not thinking–I ran to the kitchen and grabbed a knife.

Later, sitting at the kitchen table, Mother on the other side of a pile of useless nylon, I cried.

I told her my story, of the lady-knight, and the police, and the soldiers. She sighed. She threw out the pile of useless nylon.

She told me the woman lied.

“Then how was she not cold!” I demanded, assuming foul play.

“Oh, sweetie,” Mother took my small hands in hers, “women are stronger than men.”

Author: Flash-365

Author Benjamin Davis and artist Nikita Klimov created one story and one picture each day for one year. In May 2018 they published their first book, The King of FU

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