So about three weeks ago, a friend of mine announced that he wanted to introduce me to a friend of his, saying that he thought we would hit it off because I’m a woman of substance (obviously) and that’s really what his friend needs. Somewhat flattered, and certainly curious, I happily (although somewhat hesitantly) obliged. The initial run-in was something of a horrific disaster (read about that mess here: The Set Up) but after a solid conveyance of my displeasure with the whole sloppy situation, my friend rallied (read: got his business in line), passed along the correct contact information and a text came through.
He offered a time and picked a place and it was on the books. He picked a nice wine bar in Lincoln Park and arrived promptly 15 minutes late. After ten minutes of waiting I ordered myself a glass of wine and settled in. When he finally showed up, he was pretty cute, in the way those old school, all American preppy football jocks who wore Letterman jackets in Grease were cute. Wholesome, boyish, somewhat forgettable, I guess. I’d say, for the most part, we had decent conversation, aside from the bit where he told me he mostly lives off Redbull and coffee and generally only drinks wine at night when he needs to curb the caffeine rush and wine is the best thing to make him sleepy. And that he mostly likes to spend his weekends raging to electronic dance music. Whatever. To each their own.
The whole affair was entirely casual, especially the part when he asked if I wanted to grab the bill and head to another bar. I said sure and made that move that you do as a lady when you reach for your purse, fully expecting your date to say “oh how kind of you offer, but I’ve got this,” only he didn’t say a word. Just took my card and plopped it next to his on the bill. 50/50 split. The same occurred at the following bar, and at the next bar, and again when the end of the night rolled around and we decided to share a taxi (two stops) and he hopped out at his stop with not so much as a hug and certainly no taxi fare. So in short, the sequence of events have led me to believe this wasn’t actually a date. Just a somewhat mutual hangout of “friends” on a Friday night at a wine bar? With a guy who doesn’t drink wine?
I would love to hear some other opinions here. I understand the hookup culture/feminism nonsensebullshitexcuse but come on! First date: the person who extends the invite, selects the location (and shows up 15 minutes late) implicitly assumes responsibility for the expenses of the date, do they not? I mean, really, does it ever count as a first date if the bill is split? I vote no and say no thank you.