SinnieK, yesterday at the library one of the librarians had on an absolutely stunning dress. Years past I could’ve remarked how beautiful her dress was and thank her for looking like a woman. Yesterday I found myself having to act as though I never saw her and could only afford a moments glance.
How sad it’s become to realize that I can no longer compliment a woman for looking like a women.
I still hold the doors wherever I go, I still offer my hand on wet or unsteady ground, but the majority of women that I encounter now don’t even utter a small thank you.
I also live in a very blue state area with many people who can’t even figure out which washroom to use.
My wife loves being treated like a beautiful, feminine woman and for that I’m eternally grateful.

Hats off to you ladies.

Here's one for you, a personal anecdote. Wasn't intentional, mind you, and it gave me no joy, but sometimes a militant feminist experiences a little karma.

I was heading into my bank, First National, to cash a check or make a deposit as memory serves. The entrance door was a large plate glass, bullet proof thing, probably 8 ft tall, 4 feet wide, and an inch and a half thick, probably weighed a hundred or more pounds. It had a big brass handle and operated on a cammed lower hinge that allowed the door to close under its own weight. It had no damping mechanism that stopped it when it swung closed, so it would swing out the opposite direction for a space before it settled.

As I pulled the door open, a woman in a business suit, carrying a brief case, and with a rather sour countenance (probably a lawyer) approached. I pulled the door wide open, stepped back and invited her to go ahead on in. She came to an abrupt halt, looked at me with a sneer, and said, "I can open my own goddamned door, asshole." Something like that.

I simply nodded, smiled, let go of the door and went quickly into the bank. The door did its thing behind me. I walked a few steps and glanced back. She was laying on her back on the sidewalk outside with a nose bleed. I was compelled to go help her, but there were already some folks out there tending to her. I felt bad, thought I should at least apologize, but figured it best to wait and see if she was going to be okay. I thought if she recovered well enough to come in the bank, I would then offer her an apology.

As I took care of my business with the teller, she did come in the bank, a man was holding the door for her and a woman was with her, kind of holding on to her. The "victim" was holding tissues or a kerchief over her nose. I really felt bad, so I started toward her. She held up her hand like a traffic cop and sort of growled at me.

I started getting worried that she might file some kind of assault and battery charge against me, but several people and the bank security guard saw the whole thing. I asked the guard about it. He said he knew who she was, a regular bank customer, and she wasn't a nice person, especially with men, said he'd had a few run ins with her when she got nasty with male tellers, even got in his face a time or two. His words, she was a b**ch.

I left still feeling a bit upset, but ce la vie. Sometimes nastiness toward others comes back to slam you in the face. And, this was before I even knew what Misandry or militant feminism was. I imagine she conjured up a great story to tell her female comrades about an ape who hit her with a bank door.