When the poets speak of Achilles, they do not mention a couple of things. They skim over how much time he spent weeping into Patroclus’s chest hair, and just how snotty all the tears were. They are a little hazy on how squishy the Myrmidons got when singing songs together about brotherly love, and the difference between a manly slap on the thigh and a caress of your neighbour’s leg. And they utterly fail to mention how much time Achilles spent being really rather clumsy with a sword, or that time he accidentally hit himself in the head with his own spear while he was twirling it dramatically
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