Chauvinist
I never considered myself to be one. Sure, back in high school I played macho around my friends while keeping the respectful side of me a secret that I only showed to my girlfriend when no one else was in sight. However that didn't make me a chauvinist, just typical teenage boy.
When I became an adult I grew out of all of that, except for my tendency toward blondes. I would never turn a woman down because she wasn't blonde, it just worked out that the relationships I had that lasted were with blondes. I always figured that it was just a matter of coincidence.
There weren't professions that I considered appropriate only for men, I didn't want my wife or my girlfriend to be the ideal 50's homemaker, and I didn't require that the women in my life be......simpler, I guess is the right word, than myself. It just always worked out that I was the one who's life was more complicated. Most colleagues of mine would say that's perfectly normal, ideal even. Even today, at the CIA there is a boys club feeling. It's an unspoken code of etiquette that your professional and private life should be strictly off limits to each other. You do your job according to orders and protocol, and at home you create normalcy for yourself in order to keep your sanity. It was what I was accustomed to growing up. My mother was senior partner in a law firm from the time I was five until I was twenty, but she was the real one, the normal one, the average everyday person. My father however was the one that I idealized. There was a definite side of him that was for the CIA and a definite side of him that was for his family.
I thought that was what I wanted to be. I thought that was the type of life I wanted. Until Sydney Bristow walked into my life.
The first impression I got from her was that her skills, her intellect, her strength, were all far superior to my own. About the only way I out ranked her was in title, but even then her double agent status made her far more important to the agency.
As I worked with her more, I soon discovered that she wasn't actually as tough as she seemed. Beneath her hard exterior was a shattered and venerable person whose life had been thrown into such a turmoil that she hardly even knew who she was anymore. This amazing and complicated person that was Sydney Bristow fascinated me more than anyone I had ever met in my entire life. I found myself feeling the torture that she lived with everyday of her life, and my heart breaking during the times when I that there was nothing more I could do to take away her pain. She made me want to change the world so that she would never be hurt again, she made me want to break free of the ridged company man that I had become over the years, she made me want to stand up for what I thought was right instead of what I was told to do, she made me want to be better basically.
I cannot help but smile at the irony. I never considered myself to be a chauvinist, but became one without even realizing it. And the woman that I fell for worse than any other, is the last one I would have expected.