The Open Car Door

I live in a fantasy world. A world that seems to exists only in my imagination. A world brought to life only on the black and white screens of the television. I only know it in the world of 'Casablanca', 'A bride for Henry', 'Pillow Talk', my good old favourite 'Gone With the Wind' and I can’t leave out 'Sabrina'. I have only seen it with the likes of Cary Grant, Fred Astaire and Humphrey Bogart. This world seems to have died alongside the greys that once used to grace our televisions.

Sometimes you see a glimpse of it in the memories of ladies that have once had a taste of it. It is hidden in the lines of their face caused by the sweet infectious smiles that comes with remembering. Most women have accepted that such smiles can only be derived from reminiscing. It is accepted it is a thing of the past. It is a world the very lucky can visit in their memories and the rest of us are left to our imaginations.

I live in a fantasy world. A world that no longer exists or so I thought. So I thought until my fantasy collided with my reality, seeping into my current existence and in that moment I smiled that sweet infectious smile that I just couldn't fight.

That was the moment I looked up to see him standing above me with the door wide open waiting. There was no lead up to it, there was no explanation afterwards. It was done like it was the most natural thing in the world. It was done as it should be done. I sat there slightly taken aback. This had never happened to me before. I knew what was meant to happen. I was meant to accept it with grace as I always did in my fantasy. The problem was I never thought for a moment that my fantasy would meet my reality. I had hoped it would happen. I had attempted to scheme to make it happen, but then I didn't think it would happen. I definitely didn't expect it to happen then, but here I found myself right in the middle of it. So I took a breath and in that moment I lived out my fantasy.

I am now one of those lucky few, even as I write this now I can feel the smile starting at my lips and travelling across my face all the way up into my eyes. The smile that seems to keep fighting its way to the surface as I remember. As I remember how I felt in that moment.

I can’t explain why it would make sense to feel that way. I am independent. I am able to do anything I put my mind to, but then a simple gesture, such a simple gesture is able to make me feel…special. I hesitate before I use such a word, it makes me feel silly. I can’t explain why it would make me feel that way, but then there is no point lying to you or even worse lying to myself. It is what it is. In that moment I felt special. Now as I think of that moment I feel special. And once again that smile bursts unto my face.

And with the memory comes hope. It isn’t dead. It’s just doormat. Out there is a little sliver of it is still alive, still attempting to stay relevant. Out there is a small cluster that remember the old times, that remember the way ‘she’ is worthy of being treated. Now I have hope and I know all it needs is a little revival.

Ladies, chivalry isn’t dead. The proof is in the smile I can’t keep off my face.