"You know what you want! Go for it!" They exclaim, these magazines targeted at twenty-something women, such as myself. "Don't be ashamed to go after a guy! A man thinks it's sexy when you walk right up to him and take control!"
Well maybe he thinks it's sexy for me to take control, but I think there's nothing sexy about a man willing to let me take control.
What happened to the days of gentlemen and ladies? What happened to being old-fashioned?
It's true that even the term "old-fashioned" implies that we have picked up, moved on, and fashioned something better, newer and more appropriate; It's "old" for a reason. But when it comes to dating, to pursuit of a mate, why is old-fashioned so utterly impossible to find?
I am a girl who likes to be pusued. I do not ask men for their numbers, and I do not give mine out unless I am asked. If given a man's number, I will most likely never use it unless I am returning his call. I want a man who opens my door and pulls out my chair and is digusted by the idea of the lady paying for dinner; It reeks of romance and chivalry.
See, recently, I met a man at a bar. We sat together, well after closing time, and just talked, figuring out our similarities, sizing each other up. I thought it was going well, as I had used almost every big word I knew and he'd kept right up with me. He was old enough, tall enough, smart enough. And then it was time to go. We walked outside into the icy air, wrapped in our coats and scarves, our breath making halos of fog around us. Parked on opposite ends of the parking lot sat our cars, waiting to be turned on and warmed up. His car was a mere ten steps away from us. Mine, about thirty. He hugged me goodnight, and headed to his car. For a moment, I stood there, astounded. I looked at my car, so far away from me, and back at his, right there. I began to walk away, struck dumb that he let me walk to my car alone.
A gentleman would never allow that.
A gentleman would have walked me to my car, made sure I was in and closed the door behind me. He would wait until I started the motor before walking away. Once at his car, he would sit in it until I put the car in first and began to roll. Just to make sure everything was okay.
I get a lot of flack from my friends, who point their fingers and crinkle their noses when I insist that I will not pusue a man. They can't believe that someone so opinionated, so strong-willed, would prefer to be in the submissive role.
"It's not 1950 you know," they say as though I fell asleep in my poodle skirt one day, and woke up to the year 2005.
I know very well what year it is, but a lady is a lady, no matter what the year, and I just prefer to be treated as such.