My Little Soapbox of the Day

It's a tiny rant. I promise. No long winded examples, or crushing guilt, or anything like that.

I was just thinking about how opening doors and pulling out chairs for women has kind of become one of those things women - specifically the ones who have feminist leanings - have used to show us all that men still consider us the weaker sex.

I hear it a lot.

"When men open the door for me, it really upsets me, because they're telling me I'm too weak to do it myself."

Okay, first point I'd like to make, it's a door. Not even a raging chauvinist truly believes a woman is too weak to open a freaking door.

Ah, but it's the symbol! Because this originated as a symbolic gesture indicating that women were weak and needed men to assist them in life. Or, another explanation I've seen is that it's because women were restricted from doing a lot of things, and were compensated by having doors held open for them.

Right?

Ummm...

Probably not, in fact.

I don't actually know where it originated, and I don't care enough about this gesture's history to go back and do actual research. But, if I were to throw out a guess, I'd say it probably had something to do with the ridiculous outfits women used to wear (hoop skirts, anyone?), and the fact that there have been periods in history when opening a door in those getups really was a trial.

That's just a guess, of course. But what really matters, is why do people do it today?

I've known a lot of men - really decent men who definitely didn't see women as "the weaker sex" - who made a point of opening doors for us. And why did they do this?

Because their momma's told them to. And they respected women.

No, seriously.

Without fail, every last one of the guys I've known who hold to traditional ways of treating women (opening car/building doors, walking on the outside of the sidewalk, holding chairs, taking coats, etc.) did it because their mothers taught them that was how men acted when they respected women. It wasn't about "protecting" us, or "doing things we couldn't." It was straight up respect.

These aren't "symbolic gestures indicating the woman needs help." They're small acts of kindness.

And maybe we should start treating them as that: a man showing us kindness, because he respects us.

Assuming that a man is a chauvinist because he opened a door for you seems like an awfully bigoted assumption, don't you think?

I changed my blog's name, and other indications I may have become old.

It's funny - I'm almost embarrassed to post on my blog anymore.

And I'm definitely embarrassed to post my blog entries on Facebook.

Why?

Well... I appear to have outgrown my blog title.

Way back in the olden days, I thought "Hippos are Stampeding Through My Brain" was the most hilarious thing ever. It was off the wall, made very little sense, and accurately described my life at the time (I think I came up with that during finals week, or at least midterms). Before that I had changed my blog title anywhere from 1-10 times per week, and was thoroughly enjoying the new world of the blogosphere.

But, well... my life moved on.

Finals were years ago. Off the wall humor doesn't make me giggle half as hard as it used to. And I **horrified gasp** read the NEWS now!!! Consistently. And frequently, I have something to say about it.

But see, when I post something along the lines of "Why going into Iraq was a terrible idea, and whether or not we need to be in there now," or, "Here are the inspirational thoughts I had while enduring a heart-wrenching trial," those thoughts are carried to you, dear universe, by a herd of stampeding hippos.

Thanks a lot, college-kid self.

So, I just didn't write those thoughts.

And now, I'm addressing the problem - those dang hippos.

They have been fired from my blog, no longer carrying to you my thoughts and dreams and crap like that.

So, since you're quite obviously already hanging around in the swirling vortex of Chaos we like to call the Internet, welcome to my little piece of it.  My blog will hereafter be known as "My Speck of the Maelstrom."

And, in case you're suddenly struck with the horrifying thought that I might have become too mature, you can comfort yourself with the thought that I still think farts are hilarious.