Chivalry Is Dead

According to legend, Sir Walter Raleigh, upon seeing Queen Elizabeth heading for a puddle, gallantly whipped off his cloak and threw it over the puddle to keep her from getting her delicate little feet even the slightest bit damp. Where is Walt when you need him?

On a recent trip to Florida, I practically drowned and wasn't even offered so much as a Kleenex.

It all started with a trip to the grocery store on a rainy day and the foolish mistake of leaving my umbrella in the car.

Tim and I were not in the store more than two seconds when the sky opened up and let loose a torrential downpour. Watching the poor unfortunate souls still outside scurrying frantically for cover, we congratulated ourselves on being warm and dry. As we headed off down the first aisle, we snickered, thinking that by the time we were done, the rain would have stopped. After all, it never rains that hard for that long.

Wrong. Apparently, no one had ever told Mother Nature of that rule, and so , ten minutes later, it was still coming down cats and dogs.

Still sure it wouldn't last much longer, we stepped out under the overhang and huddled with the other miserable, sodden people there, killing the next five minutes or so reassuring each other that this was all going to blow over any second now.

Wrong again. If anything, it started to rain even harder. Rivers began to form in the loading lane and I think I caught a glimpse of Nessie somewhere out in the middle of the lake that had sprung up halfway down aisle three.

Reaching the end of his patience a whole five seconds later, Tim decided to make a run for it and get the car. I wished him well and reminded him that the umbrella was tucked in the door on the passenger side. I offered to hold down the fort until he could ride to my rescue.

He looked at me incredulously. Wasn't I going to go with him? Did I truly expect him to make that mad dash on his own?

Well, duh. Of course I wasn't going with him. It was raining. Did he not know after all these years that my one, unbreakable rule (okay, actually it is unbreakable rule 435) is, "Never get the hair wet unless you are within one hundred yards of a hot shower and a blow dryer"? I mean, seriously, was he new in town?

As I watched him sprint through the parking lot, dodging the great lakes somewhat successfully and the raindrops less successfully, one of the other poor unfortunates turned to me and commented wistfully about how lucky I was to have such an attentive and caring husband.

Before I could get too smug though, Tim pulled up in a great tidal wave of water, unlocked the door and gestured for me to get into the car.

Um. Did he miss the part where I told him where the umbrella was? It was at least five feet from the overhang to the car. Five feet and about five hundred gallons of cascading water. Why didn't he just ask me to swim back to the condo?

Not believing he was actually serious, I shook my head and pointed skyward.

Not believing I was actually serious, he rolled down the window and bellowed, er, gently requested, for me to get into the car.

Once again, I shook my head. I ever-so-sweetly suggested that since he was already wet, he might consider bringing me the umbrella. After all, there was no sense in both of us getting soaked, and did he not remember the hair rule?

His response to my politely and lovingly phrased request? He chucked the umbrella out the window in my general direction only to have it land about six inches from the car in what was quickly becoming the Erie Canal.

Fascinated, everyone on the sidewalk swiveled their heads back and forth like bobble-head dolls trying to see what my reaction would be.

Smiling beatifically, I crossed my arms over my chest and glared, I mean gazed, lovingly back at him, willing him to GET OUT OF THE CAR THIS INSTANT!!!

And still he sat. Check and mate is what he was thinking. Dead mate is what was running through my mind.

Finally unable to deal with the stress of the standoff any longer, a young girl threw up the hood of her sweatshirt, darted out into the monsoon, and retrieved the umbrella for me, obviously thinking to make things right and avoid a homicide. Ahh. To be that young and naive again.

Snapping open the water-logged umbrella, I threw myself into the car as quickly as possible, which means I was only half-drowned, while creating at least half a dozen scenarios involving Tim and said umbrella, none of them pretty.

Sir Walter Raleigh he isn't. But then again, I guess I'm no Queen Elizabeth.