Chivalry Is, Indeed, Dead

Those of you who know me (and I think I can safely presume that no one else would be interested in this blog) know that I would classify myself as a feminist. If I were a famous feminist, Rush Limbaugh might even call me a Feminazi. So I am all for treating men and women equally, and I do not generally expect men to treat me "special" simply because I'm a woman. But you know, when you're nine months pregnant and carting a 30-pound toddler around, you generally expect people to be a little decent. It's a human issue, not a gender issue. After all, if I encountered a man who was nine months pregnant, I would certainly give him some respect.

So anyway, getting around to the point. Today has been one of those days. Those of you who have been this pregnant (I'm due in four days) will understand what I mean when I say I've hit the wall. I've been cheerful long enough (though Charles might disagree). It is high time for the wee one to exit her cozy nest in my midsection.

To stave off my random urges to shout at the belly, the Toddlerita and I went to the library. I had with me the only two potty books she will read--and which I firmly believe are absolutely the only reason she will even sit on the potty to "practice." These are very, very important books. I had already reached the renewal limit and wanted to check them in, then immediately check them out again. I asked the librarian if I could do this. "No, that would be called "renewing", and you have already REACHED the renewal limit," he said, snottily. "I understand that, but please look at these--they are very important books!" I replied, waving them in front of his face and pouring on the charm as much as someone with a squirming basketball in her shirt can. "Please," I said. "No, it is a library policy," he replied, as if the Word of the Lord had been laid down. "Obviously, you are not a parent," I murmured, and moved on. (And any of you who really DO know me are probably stunned I did not rip his head off. But I really didn't!)

Now, I have spent more than six years of my life working in libraries, and I know all about "library policy." "Library policy" is designed to keep people from abusing the system, and can be flexible with the breeze. For example, when I was working at the graduate library and a poor grad student came in who had lost and then found the periodical with $1.50 per day fine, erasing the $90 penalty and giving a stern warning not to let it happen again was not at all difficult, as my supervisor (who embodied "library policy") showed me. In my opinion, this guy should have renewed the books for me and counted it as his good deed for the day. It's not like "The Potty Book For Girls" is a New York Times bestseller with a waiting list of forty patrons.

But he wouldn't do it, and since I am grumpy but didn't have the wherewithal to take it out on him in person, I officially decree here that I hope his future children, should he have any, are dried apricot enthusiasts who are in diapers until grade school. And if he DOESN'T have children, may he blessed with an unpredictably incontinent dog.

There. I feel better now.