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What I'm Looking for in a Man
By Miss A. Gargoyle (As Told to Brianna Duff)
Let me be honest: I don’t go on dates much. How can I? I’m strapped to the side of this old cathedral all day. I can’t get down. I can’t stretch my legs, mostly because I don’t even have legs to stretch. I’m just stuck here, staring down on all the little people as they pass below me and stop to take a picture on their fancy tourist cameras.
But, if I could go on a date, I know exactly what I’d want my prince charming to be like. He’d have to be attractive: grey eyes, cloudy hair, and a suit the color of slate. Maybe a silver pocket watch, too. Those were big right around the time I had my 605th birthday, and I always found them to be quite wonderful, glinting in the sunlight and looking like hand-held stars from my perch on the wall. Yes, he’d definitely have a pocket watch, and a pair of those sleek black shoes, too.
My prince would have to be down-to-earth, since I am not, and he would have to be as passionate about historic building preservation as I am. It was what I was built for, and it’s the job I’ve done for nearly seven centuries. I sit up here to draw the water away from the roof day in and day out. I keep the cathedral in the best shape possible, no matter how the authority inside changes or time moves because I know that the people who have walked below me over the years matter, and since they matter, this magnificent building matters, too. Any man I decide to love would have to appreciate the grandeur of my cathedral and its vast importance in our city’s timeline. I'd expect him to also have a healthy knowledge of history to balance out this passion for preservation. That way, on our date, we could drink wine, look out over Paris, and talk about medieval architecture.
It’d be nice if he was the kind of man who would visit the relatives. I don’t really get to see them much since I’m stuck where I am. I see Libra, my lioness third cousin who is to my west side, and Jack, the satanic replica who is my uncle on my east side, every day. But my sisters and brothers who are on the opposite side of the building or my grotesque cousins situated inside with views of the stain glass windows are nearly strangers to me since we left the carving block. I miss them dearly and would adore any man who’d do the rounds for me and say hello to everyone now and then.
Finally, my prince must be absolutely angelic. It is my solemn duty to not only ward off water stains, but also to keep away evil spirits. I simply must protect my church. I have sacrificed beauty and kept the guise of a monster so that others may be wary of evil and will stray from it when they see it. Any man of mine should be so good that I won’t scare him away. He will recognize the purity of my own intentions (the beauty inside me) and not be afraid of me because he has no reason to.
This, I think, more than anything else, is the key to my centuries-old and ever-yearning stone heart.