An addendum to this post: it occurred to me after the fact that I may not call myself a feminist…but I sure as heck act like one.

Case in point: guys opening the doors for me. Since my initial post on this habit is now swimming in the sea of forgetfulness elsewhere in the blogosphere, I’ll give you a brief recap. The first time I was in SoCal, my friend Lee was the perfect gentleman - wherever we (me, him and Ash) went, he opened the door for us ladies. Frankly, I wasn’t used to this and got pretty uncomfortable; once he noticed that I was fine with opening the door for myself, he stopped opening the doors for us. I was embarrassed about this and regretted being that forward without mentioning why I didn’t feel comfortable about him being a gentleman in this manner, but also grateful.

I got home, posted about it, and we talked a bit about it later on. We agreed that the next time we went out, we’d go with Army rules or Victorian rules when it comes to opening doors. When Army rules are invoked, it’s every person for him/herself. Victorian rules? The gentleman will open the door for the ladies.

Like I told Lee last night…I’m going to have to work on this, letting a guy open the door for me. Yes, it’s courteous and even chivalrous to have a man open the door and insist that I go first, but I’m the type of chick that sees a door and doesn’t see the point in having to wait an extra 3-5 seconds while the guy behind hurries to go around me to open the thing. And I’m not partial to the gender of the person behind me - if I open it first, I’ll stand there and make sure that person doesn’t get a door slammed in their face.

All this to tell you that yes, I don’t necessarily identify myself as a feminist - but I have little quirks that would make a person say, “Uh, Rhe, you could’ve fooled me.”