Chivalry is dead

What do you do when you see a tiny lady, such as myself, struggling to carry huge plastic bags filled to the brim with pullouts, causing the veins on her temples to show, and her very face to turn an unflattering shade of crimson? If you were a "man" in this same office, you would just look at her and say hi, then waltz through the door, allowing it to slam on said lady's face.

Is that any way to treat a woman?

A while back, I wrote about the lack of men in this place--the kind that I could talk to about basketball, the kind who didn't own an arsenal of hair products or knew anything about women's fashion. Add to that: the kind who possess a single, teeny helpful bone in their gym-inflated bods.

I'm still a bit sore--literally and figuratively--from the sheer number of heavy bags I had to carry all of last week, with nary a member of the male species offering to help. (That incident in the opening paragraph actually took place.) I remember this one instance when I was carrying a stack of chairs (!), and this huge guy stopped and asked, "Where are you going with that?" After I told him, he basically said, "Oh OK," and kept on walking. WTF?

Am I to blame women's lib? Screw that. This isn't about independence. It's about being friggin' helpful and doing a good deed for someone in need. Or perhaps good deeds are reserved for the Scarlett Johanssons of this world.

Someone's a bit of a grouch today.