Unpopular opinion alert: I do not like chivalry. It’s unnecessary, inefficient, and sometimes it straight up creeps me out. Unfortunately, I live in the South. And the South is ALL ABOUT chivalry.
I’ve been saying for a while now that I was going to start a blog with all of the stupid ways men have insisted on holding the door open for me since I moved here, but then I realized I already have a blog and starting a new one that would only occasionally get posted on would be pretty silly.
So that brings me here, to this post, where I will be sharing some of my favorite dumb ways men have insisted on holding the door open for me. Onward!
I haven’t been running much lately because I go to two aerial classes a day six days a week most weeks, but if you’ve been reading my blog for a long time you’ll know that last fall I was running generally five days a week. And because I’m too lazy to drive somewhere to run, I typically ran along more or less the same route (adjusted for distance).
There are a few people that I got used to seeing on a semi-regular basis, but there was one in particular that I really remembered – partly because he liked to run on the street despite the fact that there was a perfectly good sidewalk right next to him, but mostly because it seemed like I saw him nearly every run in more or less exactly the same spot, give or take a couple hundred yards.
After a few days or weeks of this, I think we both started to recognize each other because when we passed he would smile and/or wave, and I’d smile and/or wave back. Eventually I grew emotionally attached to him in a weird way; the way that runners support each other in passing is one of my favorite things about running, and getting a smile or a wave felt like encouragement that helped me through my runs, no matter how much I was struggling. So, I started thinking of him as my running buddy.
Since I stopped running, I’ll still see him every once in a while – though generally from my car – and feel guilty about how infrequently I’ve been getting out on my feet. And occasionally I’d thought that I’d like to actually meet/talk to him, but since neither of us want to interrupt our runs and I’d never seen him anywhere else I figured it would never happen. Or so I thought.
No, I don’t mean MY like that. I was not the one getting married. And technically, it wasn’t really my first. But it was the first time that any of my friends got married and the first wedding I’ve been to in recent memory, so I feel like it’s close enough.
Anyway. A few weekends ago I flew home to go to the wedding of one of my very good friends from high school and quickly realized how completely unprepared I am for weddings.
Actually, if we’re being honest, I realized that long before the wedding even started – back when I first came to the realization that I had no idea what to wear.
(This, in case you were wondering. And no – I don’t look like that. That’s the model.)
Ok, so technically I didn’t fly the whole way. And I definitely wasn’t on a plane or in airports the entire time. But I did take a plane, and I started at 9:00 am Charleston time and didn’t get to Madison until nearly 10:30 pm Madison time. So the title is technically mostly true.
So going back to the theme of stories from a super long time ago, this post is going to be about something that happened on January 3rd. Specifically, a dinner that happened on January 3rd.
But first, a little background. Charleston is famous for having phenomenal restaurants (a fact I can attest to), so whenever anyone comes to visit me I make sure to take advantage of the fact that I can use that opportunity to go out to restaurants not by myself. Additionally, due to a complicated and convoluted series of events, I owed boyfriend a fancy dinner. So, when he came to visit me, we decided to make a reservation at what is supposedly the third best restaurant in Charleston: Circa 1886.