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Maidens only desire the finest of knights. Like Guinevere, they lust after gallant Lancelot even when wed to the noble and kind Arthur. It's over, nay, it never began for us few who can not hope to rival their mythic Lancelot in physique nor fair face.
Today, I approached a fine lady on the road. She was clearly of noble lineage, or so it seemed by her clothing and soft features. I shared a few words with her and offered to allow her to ride my horse. Suddenly, her face twisted, and she objected, "Sir, I am all-ready promised to another."
Another! Who must this be, another Lancelot, no doubt! Tall and handsome with noble blood.
Once again, maidens have left me despondent. There is no romance for those of us whose faces are malformed like ogres. For they are as their nature wills it: wanton harlots in the presence of Lancelot, and barren virgins in the face of us virtuous yet physically cursed men.