a little help please

(This is my most recent column from the Meridian Booster. Enjoy!)

It’s time to face the facts ladies.
Chivalry, as we knew it, is dead.
Before I divulge my latest conclusions, I would like to take a moment to acknowledge a few random acts of chivalry. First and foremost my man regularly opens doors for me. Then there was a former colleague who dealt with more than his fair share of flat tires, and more recently a few more of the men I work with had to push me out of the snow bank I had parked in. And finally, a few of my friend’s men have graciously offered a seat in the cab of their trucks when me and my car were not feeling up to par.
So to these men, thank you.
But to the rest of you … you leave a lot to be desired.
I certainly don’t expect a man to ride up on his white stallion in shiny silver armor. I would quickly take a mud covered vehicle and dirty coveralls.
I just need a little help.
In my most recent sticky situation, two over-exaggerated syllables would normally have done the trick – ‘Dahhh-deeee.’ Phonetically speaking of course. But the fact that this daddy’s girl moved so far away from home unfortunately makes that impossible. And I had already called in all the favours I could from “Daddy’s” in this area code.
So I sat on a car mat in the snow on the side of the road and tried to do it myself.
Doesn’t that sound like your stereotypical damsel in distress?
Now given the temperature and the snowy conditions, there is not as much incentive to pull over and offer assistance as I had traded in my summer apparel for a winter ready snowsuit.
But I don’t believe I am asking for much. Just a little bit of help with the things that are too big for me to handle. And isn’t that what most men want anyways? The admission that I, like most women, do need help sometimes.
Although the women’s liberation movement and my pink and purple tool set both prevent me from telling you this, if you would just help me move my couch, or add more transmission fluid to my engine, or help me change a light bulb or two that I can’t reach, I will gladly stroke your ego. And make you dinner.
But if you just drive on past or pretend like you didn’t see me, I will save the dinner and dessert, (potentially German chocolate streusel, Toblerone cheesecake, or baked apple betty) for someone else.