Originally written by Loren Rugen 7/14/07
A whimsical attempt at best, the shaft fell a full seven feet short of its cylindrical hay target. Yet the slender figure currently in possession of the long-bow vibrated a giggle out of herself the anyhow. Returning the fine-crafted article to its true possessor she commented with a laugh, “I know you hunting-warrior types are strong enough for it, but if you would all but loosen the horse-hairs by a tad, more of us less able-bodied individuals could make use of it.”
Wishing a satisfying defense, although matching her mirthful tone, he replied, “If, however, I loosened said hairs,” he paused, flicking the bowstring, “I would hence rob these blessed strings of all but the ability to catch the less able-bodied of its prey.”
Thinking himself the victor of this silly game he straightened his posture with bow abreast. Stealing a prolonged glance, his smug complexion met not the façade of defeat as expected.
In its stead she wore the exuberance of feminine defiance. Most all men of frequent womanly correspondence know the look. Eyebrows tenderly lifted. Poutful lips slightly pursed. Nostrils flared and cheek-bones tight. If a man had pure will enough to peruse its stare and study it without breaking under its utterly confounding persuasion, he would note that a hint of its power resides in a complete uncertainty, on the man’s part, whether she will laugh or cry, strangle or hug, screech or whisper.
It is nothing illogical, nor unreasonable. Stubborn sure, yet softened by womanly peace and grace. It is an expression beyond the ability to reason with or argue against, beyond title and predictability, beyond any man’s ability and strength to contend with, at least, any man in his right mind.
The man’s smug expression held for a moment longer before a cheek quavered. Before several more moments had the chance to proceed his entire facial countenance fell. He was defeated. She giggled again and twirled in a girlish victory dance. She had won the game, proving once again that God has indeed bestowed a powerful, yet subtle, power within womenfolk.
A power known through all generations as The Look.