Further Adventures at Wal-Mart...as it's the most populated area in town...

Every year my father inflates a 8-foot swimming pool, parks it in the backyard, and then overchlorinates it to the point where only he is brave enough to sit in the water that decimates bug life faster than a Tim-Taylor-superpowered-bugzapper (since I used to invest so much in dying/highlighting my hair, I wasn't insane enough to ruin my hairdresser's expensive work for just five minutes of buoyancy). Every year he keeps "forgetting" to take it down...until really late in the season where the water's starting to freeze on top. Between the chemicals and the ice, let's just say that these pools didn't last more than a couple years around our house. Last year's entry into the wild world of Sackville looked to have survived the winter...until Dad started to fill it and found a huge, gaping hole in the bottom. He then decided, due to financial issues, to 86 his swimming plans this year. I, being the good daughter with a savings account (love you, Sis!), decided to spoil him for Father's Day and buy him a replacement pool. Besides, I'm giving up coloring my hair and figure the bleach will just help me return to my natural color faster. :)

Fun for every family unafraid of sanitizing their genes...and the resulting cancer outbreaks

So I trek into Wal-Mart, select the new pool, hoist it through the checkout, and cart it to my car. It's when I'm attempting to put this very ungainly, very heavy box into my backseat that I find major conflict. This box is heavier than I remember it being. It's also getting consistently caught on the edge of the cart, which is continuously wheeling away from my car thanks to a sloped parking lot. Two tries only succeed in making my lower back ache, my shoulder pop, and nearly landing me in a heap on the ground as I attempt to control too many moving objects at once. It is at the moment that I'm glaring at this now obnoxious present when I hear laughter. It's not very loud, not overwhelming, but just the soft chuckles of someone observing what must look like the equivalent of an uncoordinated penguin troop performing Swan Lake.

It's only cute if you're three years old and still look good in a leotard.

Parked in the row behind me is a big red SUV...with a hefty-looking 40+ year-old man in the driver's seat. Now, normally I'd just ignore him, or at the most, smile embarrassedly while trying for a third time to wrangle the plastic pool of doom. This time, however, I've had a great time at music practice. I've eaten a fair amount of sugar. I'm high on life. I open my mouth.

"Well, if you're going to get such a kick out of this free show, the least you could do is come over here and help me!" My teasing remark, sassy and full of enough sweetness to counteract the sarcasm, works like a charm. The gentleman exits his vehicle, showing off his lovely work-roughed jeans and faded t-shirt, and saunters over to my car. He puts one strong hand on the edge of the cart and anchors it against the wheel well. "Ok, then, I'll hold 'er steady while you haul it in there."

Time out.

I'm sorry, but did my audience, obviously much bigger and stronger and very MALE, just take the easy job in this ordeal? I mean, I know our current world culture has more of a humorous attitude towards chivalry.

See? Soldiers know how to treat a lady (at least I'm assuming that's a lady).

I know that even simple chivalric manners, like opening car doors, seems to be a thing of the past (although I was delighted to find that there are guys out there still insisting on this little treat...and they're forgiving when our decades-old habit of having to open our own car doors kicks in before they can circle the car).

The manners and his suit have become "old-fashioned," but her hairstyle has come back into fashion at least three times.

Despite this, the current situation was obviously one in which the correct thing was not being done. Yes, I am technically strong enough to haul the box in my backseat (I've carried much heavier things before with few problems) and the problem is more of one of logistics and not strength. Still, if guys in China are completely comfortable--and often insist upon--carrying their girl's purse...

My purse, coincidentally, is about 2/3 the weight of the pool most days... (My school packback has reached 100 pounds before...and you wonder why I go monthly to a chiropractor).

...then the chivalry isn't about doing what we can't do. I can open my own door. It's just nice to have someone to help me, to take care of me, to show me a little extra respect and help when it's appropriate (grabbing a girl's puse without permission is known as mugging--not the thing to do).

So my response to Mr. Helpful? Playful banter, of course, full of smiles and sassy expressions. :)

Mr. Helpful: Ok, then, I'll hold 'er steady while you haul it in there.
Me: Um, no, I will hold 'er steady and you will haul the pool in there.
Mr. Helpful: (chuckles) But you're a strong young'un!
Me: But you're the guy LAUGHING AT ME.

((Still chuckling, Mr. Helpful easily hoists the pool into my backseat and gently closes the door. Mrs. Helpful just happens to approach at this moment, her shopping cart overflowing with bagged purchases.))

Mrs. Helpful: I thought you were going to stay in the car...?
Mr. Helpful: She made me come help her load her car after she caught me laughing at her.
Mrs. Helpful: (big smile at me) Well, then, you can get your butt over here and load up our car.
Mr. Helpful: I knew I shouldn't have laughed...

So, lessons for today:
1. Park in the flat section of the lot.
2. Teasing others can earn you extra (home)work.
3. A little Southern accent and a big smile still charms the opposite sex.