Chivalry is Dead. Only Hookers are left.

As a female, one is typically raised in a fashion where we are told what women do and do not do as well as the different types of women there are. These types are learned either by being given the information or by simple observation. My older brother allowed me plenty observation. He usually had a girlfriend, but on the weekends or late at night, there was another type of woman who would accompany him home: The whore. My mother taught me these things in other strange ways.

You know how they say a man walks on the outside (closer to the street) and a lady should walk on the inside?  Well, I've heard plenty people debate why this is but, according to my mother, there is no debate:

When a man lets a woman walk on the outside, it means he's selling her. 

Pimp&Prostitute-esque. Perhaps it's just a Dominican way of seeing things, but it's a fairly clear insight, no? Some say that it's so the man can shield the woman from water splashes or the oh-so-common car jumping over the curb. Either way, there's a sense of care that should be illustrated in this action no matter the genesis of the idea.

That's not where the knowledge ends. In my house, only hookers respond to car horns. My friends don't honk for me to come out of the house and much less will a man. A gentleman is supposed to come to your door and walk you to the car. When's the last time that happened? All I can hope get now is a text or (phone call if I'm lucky) saying, "I'm outside."

Why don't men don't get out of their cars?

Besides reason #1, He's short (trust me, they be like 5'2. Tell that man to get out the car), there is something else. It's been a long time that I've been hearing that chivalry is dead and I've been in mourning since I heard. I went for a run Monday afternoon and apparently my sweating and random arm exercises are attractive. After a U-Turn down  the way, the guys turned around to holler, literally, out the window. I pointed to my headphones, mouthed, "Can't hear you," and steadily kept it moving. What kind of woman responds to men in cars?  Think about it. Only hookers.

Here's a suggestion: Get out the car. Walk with me. Talk with me. Find out what I'm about. We both know my body is shape, but there's more to me. Too bad he'll never know.

My conclusion is always the same: Men only try things that work. This guy was in  nice car, fairly new. I don't doubt the wheels he's riding around in have gotten a couple of skirts to lift in the passenger seat, but that wont be me. Sometimes I feel like those of us who don't respond are missing out (figuratively). If I had responded to him, I might have a date tonight... no, I would have a date tonight. If I responded to every "Yo," "Ma," "Psst" or whistle, I'd be a very busy girl. But right now, I sit here blogging with you because my standards seem to be a bit to high.

Sorry, "Psst" isn't the password. Entry Denied.