When the Magpie were a wee lass, and much given to Chattering, she were given a book of Tales for the Children's Hour (or some such edifying title). The second tale in said compendium were St. George & the Dragon.
In that particular rendition, the king's little lass were a simpering thing called by some prissy nomenclature of Selina or some such. She were a bore. Nonetheless, along come the knight George, not yet sainted, and he proceeded to kill said dragon by rolling a great ball of pitch, sticking it on the end of his mighty lance (the Magpie were far too young to read any naughty implications into this) and shoving it down the dread beast's yawning maw.
Bright young lass that she were, the Magpie were greatly impressed by knight George's defeating of the mighty dragon, not through brute force, but by his cleverness. The Magpie rather liked that. She identified, not with the passive pale whisp of her own sex, in need of rescuing, but rather with the clever brave & strong rescuing knight George. She thought it a good thing to solve problems by clever & innovative means.