My Theory on Chivalry in the Stroller Age

Theory of what you ask?

Well, ever since joining the momhood and the start of lugging kidlet and kidlet accessories around, I've discovered my long held perceptions of chivalry in society are completely bunk. Bunk, false, full of hot air, based on ficton if you will. Follow me...
Logically, the most helpful bystander should be a fellow mom - she knows what it's like to be balancing a stroller on stairs with a diaper bag slung over one shoulder, a hot coffee in one hand and bedraggled hair in your eyes. She's been there, many times. But the irony of the situation is that she won't help you. Whether it's from a sense of trial by fire, a way of making you learn it yourself, or just that she is overwhelmed enough herself, she doesn't come to your aid. Maybe, oh maybe, if you're lucky, you'll get a sympathetic smile as she motors past and dodges the flying baby toys your darling angel is evacuating from the stroller.
Next up, you have your older women, most likely moms who have grown their kidlets and are now stroller free, and maybe, oh maybe *gasp* empty nesters. AHA! you say, they'll help! They have 2 hands free, they know what it's like. But ohhhh no, not them. They look at you with a twinkle of disgruntlement in their eye for daring to try to do it all. "In their day.." they mumble as they elbow passed you and help you by adding yet another food stain to your once very nice coat.
And then there's the young girl, the as yet to be impregnated, tight stomached, zero cellulite, *what you used to be*, younger generation. If you are betting on them to help you, you obviously didn't take all your PPD medication this morning. Dare they associate with the unwashed simpleton who is wearing socks with *gasp* sandals? And is that a CHERRIO in your hair? Oh NOESSS! Run, RUN! before the cute stud down the lane sees you with such..such...ickies. But wait, there are a few polished gems out there, that might take pity on you, indeed there are. And if you are lucky enough to carry a designer diaper bag that doesn't have any obvious spit up on it they may be convinced to offer to carry it while you struggle with the rest. Because the bag was obviously the problem....
So that sums up the fairer sex. Rather helpful as a whole weren't they? But that's ok, it's the MEN out there who are notoriously chivalrous, right? RIGHT? well, let's take a look at them, shall we?
As the last baby toy goes flying, and the munchkin begins to voice it's displeasure at exhausting it's supply, you spot a handsome, well dressed man approaching, and think, "yes, this is it! He'll help!". Men are programmed to help damsels in distress. Of course they are, all the fairy tales told you so. But all he sees is the mud on the wheels that will act like a heat seeking missile and damage his $500 crocodile shoes and the sweet sweet smell of baby poop that could infiltrate his hand sewn italian suit. Before you have time wish you'd busted out the lip gloss before leaving the house, he's added up the consequences and is rapidly crossing the road with a magazine in front of his face.
Older gentleman are in a bit of a quandary. Most of them do indeed wish to help, but between the oxygen tank and the walker, all they can do is smile and grumble at the inaccessibility of the day and age and sweetly inquire as to the lusty child's name. They get a pass from me, since they are usually well meaning.
And then...we have the young men. And here's where the surprise is. It is not the preppy young guys who run up to you and releave you of the burden of the stroller on the stairs, oh no. They are too busy flexing their muscles for the aforementioned tight stomached, zero cellulite, perfectly match piece of ass to bother noticing the beads of sweat forming on your brow from pulling that blasted stroller (I thought it was the light travel model! False advertising!) and help. But alas, it isn't all bad. The nose studded, mohawk-ed, pants around his ankles, social outcasts quietly comes up to the front of the stroller, and accompanied by a shy smile, takes the weigth of the mother torture devise and assists you to your destination. Ahhh, sweat relief. THAT is what I'm talking about :D

And that, dear readers, is what I thought about as I returned from picking up my course materials. Need I elaborate and mention it was the boy with the blue mohawk who came bounding down the stairs to help me get Mr Man back up them after 20 something other students passed me by? And they call *him* the delinquent. *chuckles*



~red