In the days of Yore, chivalry refered to the medieval institution of knighthood and was often associated with the ideals of knightly virtues, honor and of courtly love. But in a fast-paced and independent society like ours, is chivalry really dead? Some would think so, including a famous singer who once sang that, "Roses are red, some diamonds are blue, chivalry is dead, but you're still kinda cute." But is she right? I mean, yes, no matter what anybody says, full-sized of half-sized, I am totally "kinda cute," but is chivalry really dead? And if so, what killed it?
Thursday afternoon, I was blog surfing when I came across a post by my blog friend K. In a beautifully written post, K talked about an Australian ice cream parlor in the East Village. The gooey, rich and velvety concoctions, gilded with designs and infused with teas and other subtle flavors was all I needed to read, before I decided I needed an ice cream of my own.
That night, with 20 bucks in hand, I convinced my mother and brother Collin to walk with me to Dairy Queen. We could have driven and arrived to our destination within three minutes, but there was something appealing of a summer walk. That and the fact that I was not about to waste my money on gas. That's what parents are for.
Walking back home with our Blizzards in hand, we first had to pass the Berkshire Shopping Center and the 24-hour Taco Bell. It was there, we came across the shortest, three-foot, ghetto, Emeniem-actin', South Pole-wearin', trash-talkin' midget ever.
MIDGET: Yo! Mommy! Ditch these punk-ass bitches and take a ride with me!
Was he really hitting on my mom? I mean, yeah, she did maintain a size four waist after giving birth to three sons and she was looking more mid-30's than early 40's, but my mom wasnt hot. Parents are never hot. Was this foo' trippin'?!
A big believer in the phrase, "Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me," my mother ignored the whistles and cat-calls coming from the long-lost eighth dwarf, Idiot. My brother Collin, on the other hand, wasnt such a big believer and instead, walked straight to the midget and stood his ground, staring at him straight in the eye. Which would had been easier, if the midget had stood on a step ladder.
COLLIN: Dude, dont talk about my mom like that.
MIDGET: What? Got something on it?
COLLIN: I aint got nothing on it, dude.
MIDGET: Fuckin' shut your mouth then!
ME: Collin. Dont.
MOM: Collin, please stop.
MIDGET: That's right! Best step back! Cuz you know I'll beat your ass!
MOM: Collin, come on.
MIDGET: I got my boys right here dawg! What you got on it?! I got my boys and they will beat your ass!
ME: Collin, dont listen to him...he's a midget. The world already shuns him like a leper.
MIDGET: Yo! Shut your face!
ME: Let's just leave.
MIDGET: Yeah! Listen to your ugly-ass looking brother!
I had just about had enough of this little gnome-creature and before I knew what was happening, I was throwing my medium-sized, Reeses and Cookie Dough Blizzard ice cream, with full force, aiming at the midget's head. And while trying to duck the flying ice cream the midget fell on the black asphalt. I rushed over to the fallen midget, and instead of lending out a helping hand, I gave him my foot. In his ass. Following my "great" chivalrous example, my brother threw his Cookies N' Cream Blizzard and together we kicked and beat the fetal posistion-layin', knee-high man.
COLLIN: Dont. Talk. About. My. MOM!
ME: Yeah. And. I. Am. Not. UGLY!
The midget's boys from the Lollipop Guild never came to his defense, and it was probably because they never existed. Which was sad, because it meant no one had his back. Unlike my mother, who left smiling, because she knew she would always have her children around to defend her. But me? I left feeling like an ass. Did I really just beat up a midget? If he was covered in muppet fur, it would have been like knocking the stuffing out of one of Jim Henson's creations, but this was a real human. Was guilt the real reason chivalry died?
Thursday afternoon, I was blog surfing when I came across a post by my blog friend K. In a beautifully written post, K talked about an Australian ice cream parlor in the East Village. The gooey, rich and velvety concoctions, gilded with designs and infused with teas and other subtle flavors was all I needed to read, before I decided I needed an ice cream of my own.
That night, with 20 bucks in hand, I convinced my mother and brother Collin to walk with me to Dairy Queen. We could have driven and arrived to our destination within three minutes, but there was something appealing of a summer walk. That and the fact that I was not about to waste my money on gas. That's what parents are for.
Walking back home with our Blizzards in hand, we first had to pass the Berkshire Shopping Center and the 24-hour Taco Bell. It was there, we came across the shortest, three-foot, ghetto, Emeniem-actin', South Pole-wearin', trash-talkin' midget ever.
MIDGET: Yo! Mommy! Ditch these punk-ass bitches and take a ride with me!
Was he really hitting on my mom? I mean, yeah, she did maintain a size four waist after giving birth to three sons and she was looking more mid-30's than early 40's, but my mom wasnt hot. Parents are never hot. Was this foo' trippin'?!
A big believer in the phrase, "Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me," my mother ignored the whistles and cat-calls coming from the long-lost eighth dwarf, Idiot. My brother Collin, on the other hand, wasnt such a big believer and instead, walked straight to the midget and stood his ground, staring at him straight in the eye. Which would had been easier, if the midget had stood on a step ladder.
COLLIN: Dude, dont talk about my mom like that.
MIDGET: What? Got something on it?
COLLIN: I aint got nothing on it, dude.
MIDGET: Fuckin' shut your mouth then!
ME: Collin. Dont.
MOM: Collin, please stop.
MIDGET: That's right! Best step back! Cuz you know I'll beat your ass!
MOM: Collin, come on.
MIDGET: I got my boys right here dawg! What you got on it?! I got my boys and they will beat your ass!
ME: Collin, dont listen to him...he's a midget. The world already shuns him like a leper.
MIDGET: Yo! Shut your face!
ME: Let's just leave.
MIDGET: Yeah! Listen to your ugly-ass looking brother!
I had just about had enough of this little gnome-creature and before I knew what was happening, I was throwing my medium-sized, Reeses and Cookie Dough Blizzard ice cream, with full force, aiming at the midget's head. And while trying to duck the flying ice cream the midget fell on the black asphalt. I rushed over to the fallen midget, and instead of lending out a helping hand, I gave him my foot. In his ass. Following my "great" chivalrous example, my brother threw his Cookies N' Cream Blizzard and together we kicked and beat the fetal posistion-layin', knee-high man.
COLLIN: Dont. Talk. About. My. MOM!
ME: Yeah. And. I. Am. Not. UGLY!
The midget's boys from the Lollipop Guild never came to his defense, and it was probably because they never existed. Which was sad, because it meant no one had his back. Unlike my mother, who left smiling, because she knew she would always have her children around to defend her. But me? I left feeling like an ass. Did I really just beat up a midget? If he was covered in muppet fur, it would have been like knocking the stuffing out of one of Jim Henson's creations, but this was a real human. Was guilt the real reason chivalry died?
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