Holy cow, talk about completely misreading a scene because you have too much time on your hands from endlessly staring at your own navel:
“Here’s this orphan girl, who spent the better part of her life being subjugated by men, toiling endlessly to rise up and do some good along the way (ahem, she freed a bunch of slaves). She’s now in a position of power, backed by a killer résumé. She’s a working mom with three unruly toddlers, she’s proud of her accomplishments, and she isn’t about to be all modest about it.
And here’s Jon Snow, a bastard with no birthright, yes, but a man who apparently needs no introduction just the same.”
One of the great feats of Game of Thrones is that for the hour every Sunday I spend watching each episode, I’m completely transported from reality and taken