Mine? Wrong.
The swordsman sat on the deck, staring up at the sails. This wasn't all that abnormal an occurrence, but for the fact that he was not usually awake when in this location. But Sanji had told him that morning in a full-on bitch fit to go and think about what he'd done, so here he was.
But since he didn't actually know what he'd done (honestly, the damn love-cook was always going off about one thing or another… pissy bastard), he figured what he normally did, that it had something to do with him not being properly polite to the Devil Queen.
But like usual, he only actually cared if this kind of action resulted in Nami herself becoming angry, since that meant a whole lotta hell coming his way; Sanji flew off the handle about all sorts of things, which the swordsman was used to by this point. Thus he became curious (as happened occasionally) and began to wonder why Sanji was so easily riled when it came to women.
After a good, hard think, he had an answer.
It all came down to chivalry. Sanji was chivalrous. Zoro was not.
Well, that wasn't completely accurate. Really, for Zoro, it was more like he was chivalrous up to a point; but if anybody crossed that line, they were just like everybody else: prime game.
It was an overall rule that you didn't hit women. But if they were to hit you first, then it would be perfectly fine to square off and give them a choice of fighting or flouncing off without getting their pretty clothes all slashed up and bloody (at the very least). And if they chose to fight, well, then it'd be every woman for themselves.
A lot of life was about choices, Zoro figured, chewing on the inside of his lip. He chose to treat everyone equally. All's fair in love and war (or whatever), so if everyone was being fair, then no one would have the right to complain. Zoro made sure he didn't give out favors unintentionally. Unlike the stupid love-cook.
The swordsman had never been able to fathom how the chef could turn into a complete doormat for each and every bimbo that popped out of the woodwork. Sure, maybe a few might have been worth it, but most of them seemed like a waste of any real man's time, existing only to soak up whatever flattery they could get and generally being rather useless in times of need, like when trying not to get killed. And the ones that were worth it could usually hold their own.
The love-cook lavished all of them with his affections. He showered all the ladies of the world with praise and attempted smooches, spewed a constant stream of compliments for their eyes, their hair, their bitc—ah, passionate attitudes…
This was probably why Sanji was irrevocably single. It was plain to anyone with eyes that their overall choice of profession did not the lesser ladies attract, and the other kind were not really fans of Sanji's approach to romance.
But really, Zoro preferred not to waste a whole lot of time contemplating his fellow crewman's love life (that is, lack of it). It was boggling enough why the cook, who (Zoro could grudgingly admit on a good day) was not a total idiot, didn't learn from the constant rejections. But maybe that was just a part of the whole chivalry thing—being an idiot so the women could feel even more superior than they already did, whether or not they actually were.
Frankly, the swordsman didn't see the point. Nami had, from the beginning, been proof enough that females don't need a pathetic male foil to boost their sense of supremacy. Zoro thought that, radical as it may have been, Sanji might have actually had a chance with her in the long run if he weren't such a blithering moron all the time.
Oh well.
Zoro decided his time would be better spent snoozing rather than wasting brain cells on Sanji of all people. If the cook hadn't learned by now, he never would, and Zoro didn't feel like trying to teach him how not to be retarded, as that would be another phenomenal waste of time.
He lay down on the deck and sighed. It was such a hassle being smart.