Mister Cheap Pants

I'd say I'm getting pretty good at this first date thing. I've found my confidence, I don't secretly have my fingers, toes & eyes crossed Mr. New Guy turns into Mr. Gonna Put a Ring on It & my conversation skills are in tip top shape!

When it comes to first dates I fall into the category of women who take the traditional approach. Such as: the guy asks you out, the guy picks the place or gives you a choice, I'm talking two, one or the other, he's on time, or if he's pulling out the big guns he's early & has saved you a seat, oh he pays, with special emphasis on that last bit. Let me play out for you how it should go:

The check comes. The guy takes the black folder with said bill, looks it over & pulls out his preferred method of payment.1-2-3, you graciously thank him. The End. 

This is what happened to me...

I arrived at the restaurant before my date, Mr. Cheap Pants. The name says it all but there's laughing to do & I figure we should do it together. I pick a table, order a drink & wait for him. Keep in mind that he lives much closer than I do to our lunch spot and still managed to be at least five minutes behind me. Impressed I was not. He arrives, gets a beer, we look over the menu, place our orders, insert an array of first date appropriate topics & before you know it we're coming to the end of what has been a good time.

The check comes. He grabs the black folder, looks over the bill & this is where things take a detour. He says, I need a couple of dollars. I'm thinking, Danger, Will Robinson, Danger! But I keep it together, sure no problem. What's a couple dollars, right? Two, right? A couple is two. No big deal. Except in a blink of an eye the waitress is walking off with my debit card and this sorry motherfucker is sliding me $8. Oh, he's saying something about going to the ATM to give me the rest of what he owes me. I'm confused & it sounds more like wah-wah-wah-wah-wah, because he had a debit card in one hand, cash in the other and my ass just payed for our lunch.

In a few short steps we're at a grocery store, he buys some candy, gets some money & hands me four more dollars. Four. That makes for a grand total of, drum roll please...$12. I bet your wondering how much lunch cost, it was $30. I just went dutch. Actually I was just jipped $3. I speed walk to my car, we part ways & I  begin to replay the shenanigans that just took place. Mr. Cheap Pants wastes no time at all texting me and I quote: "I really enjoyed my time with you" *smiley face* Twice! Why twice? Because how do you say I think you're a cheap bastard, nicely? Except on text number three he made it easy for me, when he goes:  "I hope I didn't offend you with how we paid for lunch?" *sad face* My response. Two Words: I'm offended. 

I except to be asked out. I expect to be treated nicely. I except the man to pay. This is a zero tolerance policy.

XO, Miss BB