Knights in Shining Armor

"Your hair," he said quietly. Without finishing the sentence he raised his eyebrows and lifted his head. That was enough to say, "Fix it."
 
She reached back and found the strand that had fallen from the loose knot. With a quick twist she was back to perfection. Not the perfection of the old chignon, but the perfection of the new messy look. I've forgotten it's (hair)stylish name, but it's probably something ridiculous like shabby chic.

I slugged the man and told him his wife's fallen lock looked lovely. The slug had come without thought, but later left me wondering if I'd been running to the rescue of the damsel in distress or flagging the finder of fault. Seeing that I so often play both roles, I considered it catching two pigeons with one bean (Italians' gentler version of killing two birds with one stone).

That night as I was letting my hair down (a more romantic way of taking my ponytail out) I thought about the couple's nearly silent exchange. Two whispered words intended for one were interpreted (or misinterpreted) by another.

My first thought was of a man with high standards accepting nothing but the best from his woman (which is why I slugged him).

Or was it a woman seeking perfection in herself? Perhaps she'd asked to be told when a hair was amiss. I've made similar requests. Tell me when there's basil in my teeth. Nudge me when I'm not sitting up straight. Help me when I'm being quizzed on the political situation in America.

Or could it be that we damsels (and dames) have forever been feigning our failures? When I'm by myself there's no one to save my cell phone from falling (it doesn't fall) nor warn me of rocks when I run (I don't trip). I (seldom) leave lunch with sauce on my sleeves and I don't see the peril in puddles. Had the woman with the loose lock been alone, the strand may never have strayed. Perhaps we aren't really damsels in distress, but rather clever creators of calamity. For without our daily mishaps, our knights in armor would have no reason to shine.