All By Myself
This notion, of course, is absolutely antithetical to my thoroughly liberated “I can do anything I set my mind to” sensibility. Part of the blessing of being born in the South is being perfectly at peace with this contradiction. Do I need a chaperone? Certainly not. Do I want a chaperone? Dang straight.
I don’t view being conducted through the byways of life as either a weakness or as spitting in the eye of feminism. How fortunate I am to have a husband who is both my chaperone and my champion! Nothing makes me appreciate this more than when I must travel solo. I still get that little girl thrill weaving my way through airports and checking into hotels all by myself. It’s ever so much more fun, though, with a companion, concierge, and conversationalist. I’ll take his chivalry over my cheek any day of the week. Yes, I’m a grown woman who’s fairly savvy and a darn good shot, but I prefer to gallivant with my favorite chaperone at my elbow.
I believe the Bible calls this a kinsman-redeemer. What a great way to outline that general idea of, well, husbandry! There is sweet freedom to be found here. When traveling with him, I have the freedom to sightsee without having to employ my Spidey stalker sensors. I have the freedom to carry on without having to lug my carry-on. I have the freedom to boldly go without worrying about “getting got” as Daddy used to put it. I have the freedom to be at home no matter the location. That’s worth something to me, and if that’s an old-fashioned notion, well fiddle-dee-dee.