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Every little corner of doubt about not having a husband, about Christine being a woman and not a man, washed out. I understood that she would never throw up her hands and say she couldn't do what needed to be done. Or, if she did, it wouldn't be because she was a woman. We had as good a shot as anybody.
I escaped the cage and found freedom from the wood pellets and stale feeder food. Maybe certain people tried to look for me; maybe they didn't. I didn't care. I was a hamster with a plan. I came to a fork, took the road less traveled and began running like my life depended on it (and hey, maybe it did).
Being a gentleman requires possessing a mix of a positive attitude, selfless consideration, but mostly, is reliant on what kind of impression one leaves behind. The man who underneath rumpled denim took the time to shave, hold a door open and made another person feel heard -- well, that's a real gentleman. Are you one?