Chivalry -- the late, great notion

Last night, I was sitting at the bar of my favorite restaurant, having a drink with a friend. I got up to go to the restroom, and I fell while getting off the bar stool. No, I wasn’t drunk; my foot was asleep. And this was no dainty fall -- I did a serious face plant worthy of YouTube. Aside from my obvious humiliation at my spread-eagle display to the entire room, it later occurred to me that not one guy came to my aid. No one even attempted to help me up.

Is chivalry dead? When was the last time you saw a door opened without someone rushing through before you? The elderly being helped with their groceries? A seat given up on the bus? OK, not so many people ride the bus anymore, but these days it seems that random acts of gallantry are few and far between.

I don’t think men are to blame. Pick yourselves up off the floor, guys; this time it’s not your fault. It’s ours. I’m saying it out loud: I think women have killed chivalry.

Think about it. I am 36 years old, I’m single and I live alone. I have bought and sold a home, have a successful career and, most importantly, I own a well-stocked toolbox and a power drill (and know how to use it). But this is what we wanted, right, ladies? We sought independence; we fought for equality. Somewhere in our quest for equal opportunity, however, we not only burned our bras, we torched the possibility of being the continued recipients of gentlemanliness.

I’m definitely not the girl who needs a man to lay down his coat so I don’t step in a puddle. I recognize the difference between fairy tale and simple courtesy. But just because I can carry a television up a flight of stairs doesn’t mean I want you to sit there watching me do it.

Don’t get me wrong; I think the feminist movement did great things for society as a whole, but along with that came consequences.

I have no problem with being viewed as a strong and independent woman. At the end of the day, however, it would still be nice if someone offered to take out my garbage.

Women have put such an extraordinary amount of pressure on themselves. Why is there a need to be a “superwoman”? Does it truly make us appear weak to accept help from a man? I know I am capable of doing most things myself, but if a guy is around, I’m the first person to hand over the hammer and nails. I’m not saying women should feign innocence and gullibility, but let us accept a good deed or two if offered. By all means, open my car door, help me with my coat, walk on the outside of the sidewalk so I’m not next to traffic, and for Pete’s sake, extend your hand to help me up if I fall on the floor.

Call me old-fashioned, but I tend to believe that if women behaved a little more like ladies and a little less like men in a locker room, chivalry might have a chance to return in full force. Sure, I can chug a beer like a guy and burp letters of the alphabet, but I try to do it only in front of my brothers. I can curse like a sailor, but I make every effort not to. And if pulling out a dress and spraying a little perfume encourages a gentleman to buy me a drink, why not? I still feel like a confident, liberated woman. Maybe I’ll even buy the next round.