Why I am Pro-Chivalry

Women frequently find themselves dealing with some manner of crisis. Our bodies are  cyclonic storm centres of oestrogen and other nasty girl hormones  which occasionally clash with life’s tribulations, like being dragged down the U2C, attached by the hair to the rucksack of a Lebanese exchange student. (Such a clash
ends messily, I promise.)

I think that we deserve special treatment every once in a while; we endure four days of pain and swooning moments each month and push babies out of our honey pots, therefore I am pro-chivalry.

I first wished chivalry a little more alive after a particularly distressing bath time. Before bed one evening, after an especially trying three hour day of seminars (the hardships of an English student) I cocooned myself in perfumed bubbles and ylang ylang  oil, and wallowed until I resembled a wrinkly prune (a prune which has been granted extra sun bathing time, the sort found only in luxury breakfast granola) , whilst listening to Phil Collins and Enya. Totally relaxed and woozy from the hotness, I emerged from my cocoon and reached out for a cuddly towel, at which point I saw it, preying above the door. I cried out for help several times but none came.

Daddy Long Legs officially freak me out, from their gangly legs to their name, which rings perverted, hillbilly country singer. These critters appear comatose but are actually always ready to pounce, so moving from the tub was unthinkable. Instead, I waited for the Daddy Long Legs to lollop  in to the far corner of the room before I could make a dash for it, by which time the bath water had turned chilly, and the magical benefits  of a hot soak prior to bed time had worn away.

The point of this rambling tale is that if chivalry were to make a full revival, this situation need not repeat itself ever again, for my cries of help would attract some nice male to come to my aid. I can understand why this may be slightly annoying to those hearty wenches who are unfazed by bugs, but here, I represent the pathetic of our kind who could use a little chivalry in such a predicament.

The main argument against chivalry is that it presupposes weakness in women. But what part of ‘ladies first’ sounds detrimental to the feminist movement? To condemn chivalry is to reject men being kind, which baffles me. It seems unfair to hold accountable for the gender pay gap the nice guy on the train who put my luggage in the over head compartment for me, or the guys who give away their jackets, whose absence would transform the 2am Bevois Valley scene into one of goose-bumped, purple splotched girls, fantasising about turtle neck fleeces.

The well-meaning fellows who open doors for a lady, or pull out her chair are just being kind, and I think that such manners should be encouraged. I can’t believe that these acts are underpinned by burning misogynistic fervour. For all these reasons, I am pro-chivalry, and I am reclaiming it on the part of feminism.