You know what I think?
I think the guy should buy dinner. That’s what I think.
Old fashioned? Yes. But that’s where I stand with it.
My barometer for if we’re “just friends” or if we’re dating is directly tied to who buys dinner. If it’s a date, he should buy dinner. If we go dutch, we’re friends. Lately I’ve been going out with a lot of guys, getting to know a lot of different people. It’s important to me on some evenings to be sure that I pay my half of the bill – some evenings where I want to be really clear that it was not a date, that we’re even steven and I owe him nothing. In fact, if it was a really dreadful evening, I’ll dive for the bill and pay the whole thing myself, letting him know that he doesn’t need to call me ever again. When the night has gone really well, when I’m really into the guy, when I desperately hope that this was indeed a date, I’ll develop what my friend calls “alligator arms”, meaning I suddenly can’t reach my wallet. I’ll sit there, smile demurely, continue to make conversation and wait to see if the man across from me has enough good breeding to know how to suavely slip his credit card to the waiter.
Just this weekend I watched this whole drama play out, not to my favor if you don’t mind the spoiler. I’d been out with Bevin about six times – a couple movies, some dinners, and this past sunny Sunday, a lovely three hour walk and talk around the touristy part of town. That very evening he sent me an email saying he’d made a dinner reservation for the following Saturday night, would I join him for dinner and a show?
Now, that sounded like a date to me. And although I’d been very much on the fence about whether Bevin and I were developing a nice platonic friendship or if that urge to kiss him meant more than my usual need to make a mess of things, this dinner reservation pushed me right over to the dating side. I was thrilled. It had been on my list of things to do to ask him if he thought we were friends or if we were dating, and it was really empowering to imagine being that straightforward. It seemed like a risk free situation – I liked him, but not a whole lot – no matter what he said I’d be okay. But now that I had this dinner coming up I decided against forthright inquiry and chose instead to wait and see if he paid for dinner.
I got the most fun out of the pre-date as I could. I love planning what I’m going to wear, changing my clothes a couple times, arguing with my hair… in the end I looked amazing. Truly. I could find no fault with my appearance. Walking to the restaurant a woman actually told me I have a nice figure. Another woman told me she loved my dress. I was feeling on top of the world when I swept into the restaurant. Bevin was standing at the bar, so situated that he missed the benefit of witnessing my entrance. I was annoyed, and was trying to figure out an excuse to leave and come back in so he could get a good look, but our table was ready so we went on in.
Dinner was delicious, I’ll admit that. I had a fabulous piece of fish, a salad of fennel and orange, a huge piece of coconut cake and a decadent cup of decaf. We talked about things – his work, my work, his motorcycle and golf, my performance and writing… things were going really well. He teased me a bit, and was quite the smart ass a couple of times, which is always gets big points in my book. Then came the check. The moment of truth. I had done my part, it was up to him now. I had dressed to the nines. I had made scintillating conversation. I had touched his arm and laughed at his jokes and asked concerned questions about his family. He picked up the check – my heart soared. This was it. He was going to buy dinner, it was a real date and I was definitely going to kiss him. It was all so exciting.
But as it turned out, he had picked up the check in only the most literal of ways. He held it for a while, and after he finally looked at it he put it back down on the table as he fumbled for his wallet. Suave and debonair was decidedly not in effect, and I knew full well what needed to come next: my politely asking: “What’s the damage?” as my fully functional, non-alligator arms reached for my wallet. We both threw down our credit cards, signed on the dotted lines, and walked out of the restaurant. We chatted for a few minutes, it started to rain. We determined that he’d parked uptown and I parked downtown – being practical had never felt so cold as he gave me a friendly hug and we parted company, me walking myself back to my car.
I think I’m going to take a little break from dating.
Tags: alone, angst, change, dating, dinner, learning, love, men, self care
