Alright, let me tell you about this little adventure I had the other nightit was pure drama, honestly. So, Edward, this businessman Id met not long ago, invited me out for a second date at this posh restaurant in London. You know the type: velvet seats, dim lighting, waiters gliding about like ghosts. Edward fit right in, sporting his tailored suit, flashy watch, and that smug half-smile men get when they think theyre the main character in everyones lives.
Order whatever you fancy, he says, flicking his wrist, not even bothering to glance at the menu. I simply cant stand when a woman restricts herself. It sounded grand, like something out of a fairy tale about a generous prince, but I felt a little uneasy. Maybe it was the way he watched me, or the fact he kept going on about his exes, complaining theyd treated him as nothing more than a walking bank card.
I went for a duck salad and a glass of riesling. He, meanwhile, was living it up: steak, tartare, a pricey bottle of Bordeaux. He rambled on about business, lamented the superficiality of people, mused about values and spiritual connections. I nodded along, but the whole time, it felt like an examlike at any second, hed spring some tricky question on me.
When the bill arrived in its sleek black leather folder, Edward didnt skip a beat. Still chatty about the downfall of morals, he lazily reached for the inside pocket of his jacket, then another, then patted his trousers. His confidence slipped, replaced by an exaggerated look of confusion.
Oh, blast, he says, staring right at me. Seems Ive left my wallet either at the office or in my other car. He spread his hands as if helpless, but you could see he wasnt really fazed. He didnt ask the waiter to hang on, didnt reach for his phone to sort it with a transfer. He just looked at me.
What a silly situation, isnt it? he continues, leaning back. Could you cover it this time? Ill pay you backor treat you next time, with interest.
Right then, it was crystal clearthis wasnt some accident or forgetful moment. It was one of those classic tests hed been monologuing about for the past half hour.
Ive read about these sorts of antics on forums, seen them in cringey soaps, but never thought Id be facing one myself, especially from a grown-up, supposedly successful bloke.
His thinking was laughably basic: if the woman pays for both without protest, shes goodconvenient, ready to save and carry him. If she refuses, shes greedy, after his money. In that moment, I wasnt facing a businessman but a self-conscious manipulator playing games.
He was sure hed got mefigured Id pull out my card and pay without fuss, all for the chance of dating Mr. Eligible.
So, I calmly reached into my handbag. Edward visibly relaxedclearly thought hed won.
Sure, no trouble, I said smoothly, catching the waiters attention.
Please, could you split the bill? I asked brightly. Ill just cover mine. The steak, wine, and dessertwell, thats for the gentleman.
That wiped the grin clean off his face.
What do you mean? he hissed, leaning in. I dont have my wallet.
I know, I replied, tapping my phone on the reader. But we hardly know each other. Paying for myself is just normal. And a man who invites a woman to a fancy place and then orders all the expensive stuff sorry, but thats definitely not my responsibility. Youre an adult; Im sure youll figure it out.
The waiter froze, darting glances between us. Edward started going red, losing his polished veneer bit by bit.
Are you serious? he muttered. Just over a bit of money? I said Id pay it back. I was just testing you.
And youve got your answer, I smiled as I stood up. Im not someone who stands for manipulation.
I was already heading for the door but felt he needed a little something extra for the finale. He sat there with an unpaid bill, pissed off and out of sorts, sans wallet.
So I went back, rummaged for a handful of crumpled notes and some coinsthe ones that usually gather at the bottom of my bag.
Oh, by the way, I added, If your wallets in another car, I suppose you dont have money for a taxi either? I placed the cash beside his fancy wine glass. Heres a few quid for the tube. Dont worry, youll manage. Consider it my contribution to your research into the female psyche.
A couple folks at nearby tables looked over. Edward had the look of a man whod just been slapped in broad daylight.
I stepped outside.
That night cost me about the price of a salad and a glass of winesmall change for spotting someones true colours and saving myself years of hassle. I do hope he got the pointthough, to be honest, blokes like him rarely change.
What would you have done in my shoes: jumped in to rescue Mr. Forgetful, or gone with the tough but fair route?
