First Date who pays: The cravat

First Date paying Pain

So I met him through a network around Christmas. He was nigistent in his request to take me out to dinner. I wasn’t keen. He wore cravats. I wasn’t sure if it was because he loved Chris Eubank or was playing the English Gentleman. But again the words of Mama Black were ringing in my ears. “I want grandchildren!” and I found myself agreeing to a mid-week date for dinner. He didn’t ask me where I wanted to go and he suggested Criterion in Piccadilly. Not having heard of it I said yes.

In social networks you never really know who else talks to each other. I found out from my other friend that she had a date with the same guy for the Friday night. Oh great! So she got date night and I got a Tuesday?!? I wasn’t impressed but then I figured we were technically all on holiday so what did it matter what day of the week it was. I was only slightly appeased.

We arrived at the restaurant and sadly he was wearing a cravat. This wasn’t an ironic statement (I asked) and I started to suspect he was doing a Goodness Gracious me attempt at being English. His Etonion accent kept dropping into Naija as the night went on and he also dropped a few bomb shells without realising. I found some of his views misogynistic but given that I had known him for a while now this didn’t surprise me. I just didn’t understand why he had asked me out.

Being lactose intolerant I tried to avoid dairy but you know these fancy shmancy places. They cook everything in butter. I don’t know what it was but I wasn’t feeling great as the night wore on. I had to go home. The bill came and I offered to go halvsies but he wasn’t having it. He insisted. I didn’t fight it. I had done the obligatory reach and had my Christmas money in my purse.

He walked me out and asked me back to his. Firstly he lived East, secondly the food definitely wasn’t agreeing with me and thirdly I just didn’t fancy him. I said no and went home. We met another time for dinner with some friends of his (I paid my share) but other than at the network we didn’t really hang.

Six months later I happen to be in Hoxton on a rare night out when he gets drunk and starts attacking me. He said, “YOU! You owe me! I spent over £100 on you for dinner and you didn’t even give me some.”

Dinner for sex? Imagine if he had taken me to Nandos? My street value would be £10*.

I told him that if he wanted to pay for sex then I would be a lot more than £100. He didn’t laugh. Needless to say I don’t really see him as much these days. I’m scared that if I do I will strangle him with that bloody cravat.

*Nandos prices for half a meal platter as of 2009

© Chelsea Black


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