Babes Night Out - Centerfolds Peggy McIntaggart, Hope Marie Carlton, and Heidi Sorensen

While shopping at Nordstrom yesterday I saw a five-year-old boy gleefully hold the door open for his mousy, poncho wearing mother who accepted the offer without batting a mascara-less eye or giving him any kudos whatsoever.  I, on the other hand stopped in mid-stride to observe this mind-blowing act and to comment on how delightful her son had just behaved.  “I wish a man would hold the door open for me!” I gushed.  Poncho mom smiled, somewhat non-plussed by my sudden exuberance with her son’s etiquette and kept moving, but little Prince Charming lingered and flashed a valiant grin before skipping away after mom.

I wanted to toss my mascara at her head.  Why hadn’t she acknowledged her son’s remarkable gesture?  Why hadn’t she taken a moment to nourish his soul by pouring out love and admiration, helping him to understand how important that little act had been? Her son had just performed the magical art of chivalry and she didn’t even care.  But, here’s the thing.  I cared. I cared a lot.

The truth is, the boy made me realize something very profound.  In fact, you could practically read my thought bubble right then and there outside Nordstrom’s Stella McCartney window display.  Chivalry is dead.  And if not dead, then definitely in a coma.

Isn’t it true that when doors are opened for you, chairs are pulled out for you and coats are helped over your shoulders, that you are a happier, more nurtured, more feminized woman?  Don’t lie.  Don’t pretend you’re one of those ancient women’s lib trumpeters who prefers to pour your own wine at  trendy restaurants while sitting delicately in your bejeweled gown.  Truth is, us ladies would all welcome a boy, preferably over the age of five, to open a door for us, while sweetly following us into Nordstrom to buy us that new pair of Prada’s we just can’t live without.

Chivalry should not be reserved for men over the age of seventy-five.  My wish for the day is that all men reading this article might re-consider their actions on their next date and take a leap into the magical world of chivalry where all women swoon.  Please don’t tell me we have to travel all the way to Savannah, Georgia to have a proper southern gentleman sweep us off our feet.  Chivalry is a valid commodity, worth it’s weight in gold Pradas.  And you can take that to the bank.