So last night’s date was going well. Nice guy, funny, plenty to talk about. All around easy, good time.

Then the check came.

We did the dance. But CLEARLY no one taught him the dance. Because when I make the move for my purse, you, sir, are supposed to say “No, no, I got this.” I strongly believe in this for a first date. I know the no-nonsense feminists will disagree (and I do consider myself a feminist, by the way, in the most basic sense that I think women should be treated equally). However, there are a few ancient laws of chivalry that I believe to just be signs of “You were raised right.”

#1: Guy pays for first date (especially when it’s just a couple drinks and we CLEARLY had a good time) and
#2: If situation arises, guy holds the door for you.

That’s really all I require. (sidenote: if I’ve had an “eh” time and know I’m never seeing this guy again, I do genuinely try to split the bill, as I feel guilty that he’ll be paying for it and then I’m peacing out. I know dating is expensive, and I feel bad. Some call that thoughtful, unnecessary and above-and-beyond what’s expected…I call it having an anxiety disorder).

Anyway, back to the dance. He lets me grab the purse. He lets me OPEN the purse. He lets me take out my wallet, remove my credit card, and hand it to him. I will be honest, no one, in my 10 years of living in NYC, has ever actually let me pay on a first date.

I was surprised. Even, I’ll admit, a little annoyed. I didn’t want to be annoyed, but I was. It’s just what was happening. I’m sorry, people who think that’s not cool. I can’t control annoyance. If it makes you feel better, I felt guilty about the annoyance. Again– anxiety disorder.

He gingerly took my card, folded it up with his in the check holder, and handed it to the waitress. Then he went to use the bathroom. “If she comes back with the check while I’m in the bathroom, don’t steal my card and bolt,” he said with a smile. I laughed. Then, when he turned around, I rolled the fuck out of my eyes, Liz Lemon style.

Even the toddler in the booth next to us (yes, toddler in a bar on a Friday night, no big deal) could tell this guy had blown it.

Then the check comes back. Guy is still in the bathroom. I open it up, and my card is gone. I try to tell the waitress, but she walks away too quickly and doesn’t hear me call her. Just then, guy returns.

“Everything ok?” he asks, looking at my slightly panicked face.

Me: “Ummm…yeah…just. My card is gone.”
Him (grabbing check, confused): “Wait, and they charged the WHOLE thing to ME!”
Me: “They did?”
Him (annoyed): “Yeah. What the hell? So they lose your card and I have to pay for everything?”
Me: “I’m sure it just slipped out of the check holder…”

I look around, trying to find the waitress, totally pissed that splitting the check has now led to my credit card possibly lying on the floor of this crowded bar, never to be seen again. I can’t help it, but this has ruined everything. In this moment, the nice time we’ve had is becoming null and void.

Him: “Oh wait! I see it!”
Me: “Where?!” (looking on floor)
Him: “Right here.”

He pulls my credit card out of his pocket. “You didn’t really think I was going to let you pay, did you?”

Slow clap, sir.  SLOW…FUCKING…CLAP.