He was damn near perfect. Nice height, good job, clean teeth, great body, cute dimples, sexy, and he could hold a hell of a conversation. To meet a single, decent, straight black man in New York City is damn near a miracle. We agreed on almost everything. We agreed that Avon Barksdale was a better gangster than Marlo Stanfield in The Wire. We both hate the idea of the military and its emotional, life-long burden on our soldiers. We have a deep appreciation for The Roots but still relate to art in Waka Flocka Flame’s music. We both were interested in marriage and raising children in the south. I was REALLY excited about this one.
He text me one morning claiming that he had a burning desire for a juicy, meaty steak and wanted to know if I’d be willing to have dinner with him that evening (first date).
I didn’t think he’d take me to a Del Frisco’s but at least a Peter Luger. If we’re going to have steak for dinner – let’s do it right….right? I rushed home that evening from Midtown to Brooklyn. I had to be perfectly made for this date. I called a car service to drop me off at our designated meeting place by 7:30 PM.
I didn’t want to over do it – so I opted for some skinny jeans, gray platform pumps, and a semi-revealing, wrap shirt. A little ‘Corset’ by Lancome, Flowerbomb, and a dab of MAC‘s iridescent powder on the tits – I was good to go. He called as I was hoping in the car and wanted to know if I had any suggestions on restaurants.
I threw a restaurant out there and he immediately shot it down due to the fact that the restaurant didn’t have a great steak selection. Ok. Fine. He suggested that I meet him on Fulton and Nostrand; there was a spot over there that he loves. Hmm.
I may be new to the neighborhood but I’m not new to fine dining. Did he want to take me to Checker’s or Subway? What is going on!? And that’s when it hit me…
We were headed to Applebee’s.
Normally, I’d be offended at the suggestion of Applebee’s for a 1st date, especially considering that we’re both in our late 20’s. It’s truly time to grow up. He was a decent brother and I didn’t want to appear like the bourgeois, gold-digger that he’s hates so much. So I went along with it. Our dinner chat mimicked our long telephone conversations and text messages. I was honestly having a good ol’ time in Applebee’s amongst the teenagers. He even insisted that I order anything I want.
The bill came and that’s when I decided that it was best that he never contact me again. I have never been so embarrassed in my entire life. He chocked when he saw the $54.18 bill. He took his glasses off to get a closer look. He called for the waiter to dispute a charge for the extra onions on his $18.99 steak. He took a deep, loud, hard breath while searching for his wallet. And lastly, he pulled out his MetroPCS brick phone to add up the charges to confirm that the bill was accurate. I was floored.
My whole life flashed right before my eyes. The hypothetical size of my wedding ring. The thought of not being able to have that nanny for my children. The inability to take trips to Morocco or St. Bart’s. I’ll have to hide my Louboutin obsession. Will I ever get a chance to happily purchase my Audi in a few years? I don’t think I can live like this…cheap. I work too damn hard to not be able to enjoy the finer things in life! Hell no. We will not work out. I never expected him to spend tons of money on me. But I’d at least like us to have a good time – freely.
I’m sorry. Call me a whatever – I can not date a cheap man. Dating a cheap man makes life that much harder. We’re limited to freebies, budget restaurants, and cheap Christmas gifts. I wouldn’t be so hard on him if he hadn’t mentioned his addiction to LivingSocial.com and how he likes to splurge on $50 massages and Jiu-Jitsu classes. Furthermore, I can’t deal with someone who will constantly have a seizure and silent struggle with paying for a $50 meal on any date.
If he’s cheap with his money, what else could he be cheap with? Time? Sex? Effort? Can you handle dating a cheap man?