At some point, you’ve probably heard the phrase “Don’t hate the player, hate the game.”
I have. I’ve gotten it from a friend justifying a spontaneous hook up with some guy she barely knew at a party. A couple of times, I’ve heard it from people who made a habit of leading others on, just for the attention. Once, tragically, it was all the explanation a mate could give me right before he cheated on his long-term girlfriend.
If chivalry isn’t already dead, then at the very least, it seems to have passed its best-before date.
Gone are the days of the chivalrous knight in his shining armour – a knight who would slay any number of dragons to rescue a beautiful princess. A knight who would hold the castle gates open for said princess to walk through. A knights who would pull out a throne for the princess to sit upon during a banquet, pay the full bill for said banquet and then, at the end of the evening, would walk the princess back to the portcullis of her own castle.
About three months ago I was sitting on a couch, listening to a couple of my friends discuss the idea of marriage. Neither of them took what could be called a “traditional” view on the subject and it was probably mere moments before I began raining my Catholic opinion down upon them like the ten plagues of Egypt.
I’ve never understood the term “hopeless romantic.”
I always thought it sounded like a bit of an oxymoron. Romance was exciting. It was intimate. It was creative and at times, it was deeply challenging. Romance was a lot of things. But it was not hopeless.