Long before the H1Z1 virus turned 99.9999 percent of all men into zombies, the issue of who should open the door for whom was a hot-button topic. Opinions varied widely on the necessity and utility of chivalry in the modern world, and there were as many definitions of what it meant to be a gentleman as there were gentlemen.
Now, of course, the debate is over. Who gets the door? You.
Every. Single. Time.
The obvious explanation for this imbalance is anatomical: If your zombie boyfriend were to give you a hand with the door, he might actually give you a hand.
But the risk of limb detachment isn’t the number one reason the zombie love of your life won’t offer to hold the door for you. The sad truth is, he simply hasn’t thought of it. This might sound discouraging but take heart: Your boyzomb hasn’t thought of anything in years. His mind is a gloppy stew of decayed dendrites, atrophied axons and neutered neurons.
There is much to miss with the zombification of the male population—sparking wit, spirited conversation, even the well-thought-out zinger in the middle of a heated argument—but the loss of old-fashioned courtesy is not one of them. Don’t think of it as the end of chivalry. Think of it as the end of awkward pauses at the door. Think of it as the end of unintended offense when you competently open the door for yourself. Think of it as the end of scurrying over the threshold under the arm of a man who won’t let you open the door for him. Think of it as the end of gender inequality as we know it.
Still not convinced? That’s all right. The zombpocalypse has been hard on all of us, and we each adapt to this brave new world at our own pace. So if you don’t want to open the door for yourself, don’t. One of your fellow female human beings will be along in a moment or two and I’m sure she’d be happy to do it for you. Because it’s not the door itself that matters; it’s the portal of possibilities it represents.