Carrie Vallentine is a young writer from Sydney’s East
The girls in the office usually chat about their love lives in the kitchen on a Monday morning. I try to stay away, as I’m currently single, and they ask way too many personal questions. Evelyn, a lovely but overly inquisitive accountant, asked me whether I had ever been on a date from hell. I told her, yes, I had. Not a good idea. I was hooked in. No turning back.
A few years ago, I was invited out for dinner and a movie by a really cute guy. I was dating a lot. We met through mutual friends and he seemed to be really interested in me – judging by his persistence to take me out.
So understandably, I was excited to go. I met him at the restaurant of his choice for dinner, as he didn’t offer to pick me up. It was a large, pub-style atmosphere with a lot of young party-goers. He greeted my outside and seemed really nervous. Our table wasn’t ready, so we went to wait by the bar.
The barman asked if we’d like a drink, so naturally, we ordered. When he asked my date if the drinks were together, he shuffled in his seat very uncomfortably.
“No. Separately, thanks,” he said.
Cheers! I had to buy my own glass of champagne. I was feeling a bit offended: refused to pick me up and now too stingy to buy me a drink.
When we finally went to sit at our table, we had the most awkward dinner imaginable. It didn’t take long for me to realise that we had absolutely nothing in common. It was completely forced. Stiff. He had absolutely no interest in the music I liked, the friends I had or my career.
He mentioned how my ex-best friend had contacted him online, just to say hi, which I found a bit weird. He then proceeded to tell me he thought she was hot. Thanks, and where’s my compliment, mate? Another strike.
At the end of the meal, he walked ahead of me and paid for his portion of the bill.
Look, I didn’t expect the guy to pay for the whole evening, but I did expect him to offer to pay for a drink, or something. He did ask me out, after all.
We then walked over to the movies. I desperately wanted to leave, but I didn’t know how to get out of it. He looked up at the board and chose the movie without even considering the film I had my eye on. He then walked ahead of me in the queue and paid for his ticket, and I paid for mine.
A feminist may say, so? We don’t need a man to pay for us. But there’s something to be said about being polite, offering is a good sign of character.
During the movie we didn’t talk. I tried to crack some jokes to chill the mood a bit, but he was so stiff and unlikable that I gave up. At one point he seemed to be trying to move his hand close to mine, but it never went the full mile. What a dork.
After the movie, I said I was getting the bus. He wasn’t about to offer a lift.
“Do you want to come and hang out in my car for a bit?” he said.
“Well, I’m going to miss the last bus if I do, would you be able to take me home then? I can chip in for some petrol money,” I replied.
“Nah, it’s too far of a drive but maybe we can make out in my car for a bit, yeah?” he said.
Can you believe the audacity?
He invites me out to dinner and a movie, doesn’t offer to pick me up, pay (or even offer to pay), offers me zero in intelligent conversation, makes me feel awkward all night, and won’t drive me home, but wants to feel me up in his car. Yuck.
Why would I let him lay one hand on me? Some men really don’t get it.
I gave him an awkward hug and walked away.
One week later, I find out that he’s in a relationship with my ex-best friend (the one who had contacted him behind my back, knowing that I originally had my sights set on him). He got together with her to get back at me, and she got together with him to prove she is as attractive as I am to other guys. Pathetic and bitchy.
They eventually ended up getting engaged and she asked me to be her bridesmaid. I declined.
They broke up just before the wedding.
“Guess that’s karma,” said Evelyn.