Now I don't want my columns just to seem like a long bitter rant at the evils of men, as actually, I LOVE men. I love meeting different ones, dating, dancing, flirting, yes finally I have moved into that much hallowed place that I once thought was imaginary- I am HAPPY being single. Yes, once I said that but didn't mean it, and longed for a warm regular body, arguments about the TV, and being forced to watch the dreaded Match of the Day. It's shocking I know, but nowadays I actually enjoy going home to my own bed, waking up with virtual strangers, and of course, never buying my own drinks.
Well, that's not strictly true, for every drink or two they buy me I'll get a round, and if they make it past a fourth date (a rare unreachable ground) then I'll be a lot more likely to start coughing up the cash. In the early days though I feel it's really their prerogative, hey if they ask me to dinner, doesn't picking up the bill lie with them?
Take Mr D, my recent date. Charming, funny, and kinda cute, and we'd made it to the scary second date. We'd progressed from drinking in a bar to now going for a curry, the conversation was flowing, and I had the various Brick Lane weirdos to entertain us. Dinner went well, we held hands under the table, shared a bhaji, and shared our hopes and dreams (OK, our favourite movies) and drank some cheap wine. I gently mocked him for being 10 years my senior and he professed despair at my lack of culinary skills. So far, so good.
Then came the bill. I'd like to point out that the total amount did not exceed £30, and that HE had asked me to dinner, picked the restaurant, and held open the door for me as I went in. With these parameters was it unreasonable of me to think he was going to pick up the tab? Apparently yes. He pulled out £15.50 from his pocket placed it on the receipt and sat there. And sat there. And.. you get the picture. After 5 minutes or so I clock on that he's not rummaging desperately for his cards and begrudgingly pull out mine, and place it on top of the cash. he then moves the plate towards me so I can pocket the cash and put it all on my card. Yes, it was an even split but I can't help feeling cheated.
But why, I wonder? Is it because deep down inside my feminist self I believe that the man should take charge and protect and nurture me? Do I want him to have father like qualities where I feel comforted and protected? Or perhaps I'm just mad because I think he was being cheap, and forced me to pay for the pleasure of his company unwittingly? It may be the third option, as my alternative plans for the evening; the gym and a bad movie with my flatmate would have been equally entertaining, and saved me £15! Am I angry that he felt I wasn't worth the cash, or was he exerting his manly right to take me out but go dutch and still expect to get his leg over? I'm not sure. And he was no struggling student either, he was a successful 34 year old who pays 2.3 times the rent I do because.. I guess he thinks he's worth it, just not that I am. And that's the crux of the matter. If I'm not important enough to impress, he surely can't be interested in anything more than a casual relationship, and though I might enjoy that, I can do better. Goodbye Mr D, you lost out there.