Taste and Tipple

What is the opposite of, “You had at me at hello?” I guess it would be, “You lost me at goodbye,” if we were being technical. But in this case, I’m trying to get at that not-so-rare phenomenon when someone loses you from the jump. Like, you fucked it, right off the bat. Let’s call it, “Ya blew it at Bonjour.”

That’s how I would describe my date last night. Yes, I know, I persist in the face of adversity, I persevere in spite of all the foreshadowing that points to near certain failure. I’m like the sexually promiscuous blonde girl in a horror movie – running straight into danger and tripping over my own feet and unharnessed breasts on the way.

Or, another way of looking at it: I’m doing the same thing over and over again with the full expectation that the results are going to be different – the definition of insanity, according to Einstein.

What can I say? I’m a masochist. Dating in the digital age, in Ottawa, is the social equivalent of taking a cat o’ nine tails to your back until you’re raw and bloody. It’s thankless work and no one is there to congratulate you on your penance.

So, I met a man on the internet, he seemed sane, smart, and passably handsome. He suggested a park date. A fine idea, COVID-conscious, socially distanced, suitably public. I was all for it until the weather had other plans. Instead I suggested we go for a drink on a covered patio (I’m nothing if not solutions-oriented). I suggested Riviera, which he’d mentioned he’d never been to but always wanted to try (solutions-oriented AND a good listener), which has a covered patio, with heaters, and miraculously had availability.

He ignored my idea and countered with Das Lokal or Joey – the former isn’t open on Tuesdays and the latter doesn’t have a covered patio. So, somehow, we landed on…coffee. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, coffee is not for first dates, it’s for your morning constitutional and for being semi-conscious on your Zoom calls.

Nevertheless, I capitulated to this less than ideal romantic context. We met at Starbucks and I took a moment to decide what to order and then approached the cash – mysteriously, he didn’t approach with me. The cashier said, “Will that be all?”

I turned to my date and said, “Do you…want…?” He made a demurring gesture that indicated he would by his own coffee, separately.

Ya blew it at Bonjour.

The coffee is less than $5, you asked me out, just buy my fucking coffee OR let me buy your fucking coffee. Either or, because right now we look RIDICULOUS – we are both grown-ups. Everyone in this scenario could afford to buy more than one coffee and the total lack of generosity is appalling – I would have been happier if he’d let me buy his, really flex that big budget energy on him.

It’s no wonder my suggestion of Riviera didn’t receive acknowledgement, if he wasn’t ready to pony up the spare change in his couch cushions for a coffee, he certainly didn’t have the fortitude for a $15 cocktail.

For the record, I’d like to be quite clear that this wasn’t an issue of income inequity – this dude has a good job and unless he has a debilitating online poker problem or extensive OnlyFans subscriptions, I think it’s safe to say he could have readily afforded my tall flat white.

After this latest foray into the dating scene, I’m more assured than ever of the necessity of my consulting service. THE MEN NEED MY HELP. They do not know how to conduct themselves and an intervention is long overdue. Luckily, men love when assertive women tell them what to do – I’m confident my offer will be received with open arms and wallets.

Until next time, pray for me.

White Negroni