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Published on 06/22/1998 All articles from this issue

Chivalry and a bride-to-be

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By Mary Cristy

A View from the Hills

I took Cris, and camera, to Allied Arts Guild in Menlo Park recently. Since he's abdicated as "King of the Road" Cris loves our "dates." Time was a when he'd be entrenched in the driver's seat with a firm grip on the wheel. Now he revels in lounging as a passenger, long legs stretched out, eyes on the horizon, Cris is a liberated hero.

Since I do much of the driving, he's more amenable to exploring new places, or revisiting closer-in old favorites, like Allied Arts Guild.

Nourished on Tennyson's "Idylls of the King," Cris grew up with a "knight-in-shining-armor" complex: a burning desire to rescue a maiden in distress.

In fact, he married me mainly because I seemed such a downtrodden mouse of a girl. Little did he suspect what a deceptive facade that would turn out to be.

Even without women's lib, our years together would have dissuaded him that women, especially this one, need rescuing.

He's quick to acknowledge that, 1 - Women are strange, wonderful (I added that myself) and unpredictable; and 2 - Marriage,whether it be to sultry brunette, Rebecca, or creamy-skinned, blonde Rowena, far from unraveling the mysteries of the feminine psyche, is likely to leave a man as far from the answer to "What makes a woman behave like that?" as he is from a waltz on the wild side of Uranus.

When one of our young friends brought home a comely wench, Cris worried because the pretty creature planned a solo hike from Monterey to Mexico.

"What if she meets bandits?"

"Linda's a karate freak," the kid hooted derisively. "She'd just punch 'em out."

Cris looked crestfallen. Clearly the days of rescuing maidens were gone.

We were happy to see nothing had changed at Allied Arts Guild. There are still the lovely Spanish colonial buildings, gardens, fountain, gift and crafts shops, sculptor-in-residence-and memories of my beloved Betty, with whom I'd shared confidences over lunch.

Scanning the spacious, tiled dining room Cris observed plaintively, "I'm the only man here!"

Three bridal showers were in progress. While we ate an off-beat combination of tortellini, squash, and fruit, the lunch offering for that day, Cris became enthralled with the group closest to us as crystal, linens, lingerie were unwrapped, and passed around.

Viewing a satin, lace-trimmed "Teddy," he asked, "How come you never wore one?"

Later, I stopped at the festive table to thank the bride-to-be.

"I want you to know that no one enjoyed your shower more than my spectator husband."

Cris grinned and waved. The women applauded, observed our camera, and asked him to take a photo of them around the fountain.

It was the jewel in the day's crown. Chivalry was not dead.

There were still maidens to be served, events to be recorded for posterity. Cris glowed all the way home.

Later, we realized what a golden opportunity we'd missed.

"You should have taken a shot of me with those twenty gorgeous women!" Cris said.

"Ah yes! What a coup for the family album. Too bad we can't arrange a rerun. But you were their hero - and are probably the only man on the planet now, who knows for sure what goes on at a bridal shower."

Mary Cristy is a Los Altos Hills-based free-lance writer and longtimecontributor to theTown Crier.