Sir Walter's Legacy

I was riding the skytrain home yesterday when I realized something...all but one of the people who have offered me their seats on transit since I started getting noticeably preggers have been men.

All but one!

I realize that this post shows how much things have changed for me over the last few months. A couple of months ago I laughingly wished that someone might someday give me a seat on transit and now I actually have the gall to complain when - on occasion - I'm forced to stand.

My, my...somebody thinks she's more special than the rest of you now, doesn't she?

You have to admit though, it can't be a coincidence that the "offerers" are almost all from the same demographic - mature men. Absent from this gallant group? Teenagers, men under 30, and - surprisingly enough - women of any age.

I kind of understand the teenager thing because I'm not so old that I can't remember what a completely vacuous idiot I was back then. I was so wrapped up in my own little daily dramas (What do my friends think about this or that? Does this boy like me or my best friend? Does this outfit make my butt look big? You know, all the earth-shatteringly important crap that makes the Dalai Lama look like a poser) that I just didn't have room left in my pea-sized brain for ridiculous social niceties like politeness.

Men under 30? I'm not quite sure how to explain this one except perhaps to note that men mature so much slower than women. Maybe before they hit 30 they are still stuck in the teenage stage where nothing much makes an impression because they are too busy stewing about such mammoth issues as "what is the correct amount of hair gel to get that 'Edward Cullen' hairstyle the girls all seem to like without having it go all crunchy?" (Twilight movie reference for all you out there who aren't into vampires.)

Women though? Quite frankly, I'm baffled, befuddled, bewildered and bemused. (and apparently overly fond of synonyms for confused that start with the letter "B") Why? Well, there isn't a woman out there that is completely clueless about the discomforts of pregnancy, either through firsthand experience or via someone they know who clued them in and yet when I walk onto a bus or the skytrain suddenly every woman there finds their phone, grocery list, knitting, shoe laces or split ends the most fascinating things in the entire world. So fascinating, in fact, that they won't even look up if (and when) I accidentally step on their foot...and I know this from numerous instances where that has actually happened (remember...I can't see my feet, let alone anyone else's...)

Why do women always wait for a Sir Walter Raleigh to throw down his cloak for the damsel in distress instead of doing it themselves? What ever happened to feminine solidarity?

This realization has opened my eyes so never again will I let a pregnant woman stand without offering her my seat (you know, provided I'm not pregnant, tired or completely busy counting my split ends.)