Chivalry... dead or alive???

Being raised in the 50s with such ideals as "Father Knows Best" and "Ozzie and Harriett", I kept my eyes peeled for years for that Knight In Shining Armor. On a White Horse. Carrying a Cloak which he would spread across any puddle that dared appear in my path. (I never noticed the transition down from the horse in creaking, clanking suit of metal.) As a young woman, I never had to change a tire, carry a big box, and only needed to raise the hood of the car, looking slightly befuddled... and "He" always appeared. He wasn't always the Knight I had pictured... (perhaps he was one of the serfs or something.) Nevertheless, some generous male was always right there to help.

Now, the REAL reason for this post...
A little while back, I needed pictures of the house for the realtor. While standing out front, I realized the treadmill on the front porch didn't really add to the nice, well-cared for appearance I was striving for. So, taking matters into my own hands, I began to d-r-a-g-g-g the monstrous thing... across the 12 foot porch... to the 3 steps.

As I began this tremendous feat of strength, the man across the street -older, maybe 60-ish - pulled into his driveway,got out of his car, waved and began carrying on a conversation - from his driveway - talking very loudly - about my trip and the sale of the house. So, I would pull a little, try to hold up my end of the chitchat, pull some, etc. At the same time, the guy next door - young, 30-ish - was leaning on a car window, talking to a friend who happened by. So, finally, dripping with sweat, gasping for air... I arrived at the steps. Lo and behold.... the guy across the street wished me good luck... and went inside. The guy next door, (who speaks very little English, but has a dazzling smile)... said goodbye to his friend, waved hello to me... flashed that dazzling smile... and went inside. Now dragging down the stair was not an option - I would either break the treadmill or break some part of me. So what's a poor old girl gonna do????

I called the neighbor on the other side to ask for help. We both managed to get it downstairs and into the den where it sits in all its hulking splendor (anyone want to buy a barely used old treadmill???)

And... the neighbor who helped? SHE -a 30-ish woman, helped ME - a 60-ish woman, while all the men in sight disappeared. Hmmm...could it be... that chivalry never existed? Or maybe it has something to do with the fact that, although I may have an hourglass figure... the sands have shifted!
Hmmm... could it be?

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