Who's The Man?

My husband and I "hosted" a dinner last night to celebrate the end of the Persian New Year. A bunch of friends joined us to indulge in meat, dip, and bad wine. But my favorite part of the entire night was hailing a cab in the ridiculous thunderstorm that erupted during the dessert course.

There I was, with three dudes, hiding and shivering under one of NYC's many scaffolds, waiting for an empty cab. Three passed us during the 15-minute wait, leaving us stranded and moist. Why did these cabbies foresake us? Because we were cowering in the corner like a bunch of wimps (granted, wimps is not the most accurate word choice here, but for the sake of this blog's PG-13 rating, I'll go with it).

Realizing that the "men" weren't going to move until the skies cleared, I darted out into the rain and leapt in front of a speeding cab. Victory! But as I climbed in, I noticed that the guys were gone. Apparently, our corner-perch was a little too close to the rain for comfort. I think they were taking refuge in a bank.

My husband caught on, grabbed the guys, and they darted to the car. But when they got there, they were a mess - my buddy actually squealed as he got into the cab's front seat.

I've never felt more testosteroney in my life. Who says chivalry is dead?