 was out — he wasn’t a TV or movie-watcher.</p>
<p>
After dinner and another walk (which rekindled nothing), I bowed out early. He walked me to my car, and leaned in for a goodnight kiss. I dodged that bullet, by kissing him on both cheeks, European style.</p>
<p>
Shudder. Well, at least that was over.</p>
<p>
Imagine my surprise when I got a call from Bob the following Tuesday. After pleasantries — which I exchanged while cursing my roommate for not answering the telephone — Bob got to the point.</p>
<p>
He got the impression that my wanting to go home at 8 p.m. on Saturday night meant that I didn’t have a good time. You think? It has always been my experience that such a forgone conclusion did not necessitate a confrontation. But if he had the nerve to ask, I had no choice but to answer.</p>
<p>
I told him he was a nice person, but I didn’t think we were a match.</p>
<p>
“There’s no easy way to say this,” I said, which, believe me, I meant.</p>
<p>
He went on to say that he usually took a first date out for a walk or coffee to get to know her and see if there was something there before proceeding to an actual date. Well, we did go for a walk the first time we met, and if he thinks I wanted to have a bad time on our first “actual date,” then he was mistaken. Of course, I didn’t say that. Instead, I admitted that I enjoyed walking and talking with him the night we met. But beyond that, there really wasn’t much we had in common to talk about.</p>
<p>
In the next few seconds, he went from passive aggressive to just plain aggressive.</p>
<p>
“I know, you said that,” he barked.</p>
<p>
Now comes the kicker.</p>
<p>
He continued: “I just want to know why, if you weren’t having a good time, you didn’t at least offer to split the check.”</p>
<p>
I am rarely at a loss for words, but this time was an exception.</p>
<p>
I replayed the evening’s events in my head:</p>
<p>
When we sat down to order, he asked if I wanted a glass of wine or a drink, I said a soda was fine. An appetizer? No, thank you, I’m good. He even offered to order dessert more than once.</p>
<p>
“I just can’t decide if I want the salad or a steak,” I said.</p>
<p>
I’ll admit, I was testing. Rules in business say you should never order more than the host. My steak and soda was equivalent to his ahi tuna salad and alcoholic beverage.</p>
<p>
“If you want the steak,” he said, “order the steak.”</p>
<p>
He didn’t say, “You can have the steak, if you like me a lot. But, if you’re not sure if you like me, then get the salad. If you are planning to blow me off shortly after dinner and go out with your girlfriends, then I think an appetizer and tap water are sufficient.”</p>
<p>
What he doesn’t get is I didn’t want to not like him. Quite the contrary. It would have made my life a lot easier if he were a match, because then I wouldn’t have to keep dating dolts. See my point?</p>
<p>
Fortunately, the silence on the phone lasted only a moment; I was able to find my words:</p>
<p>
“I’ll tell you what,” I said, “If you have the chutzpah to e-mail me your address, I would be happy to send you a check. Goodbye.”</p>
<p>
More than a week had passed before my next contact with him: eight days later, he sent an e-mail … with his mailing address.</p>
<p>
So, here’s the question: if I send him a check, does that mean, in return, I will get my Saturday night back?</p>
<p>
<i>Debra L. Eckerling is a freelance writer based in Los Angeles whohas written for Script magazine, Venice and Latin Style. She also leads a writers’ support group in Santa Monica.</i></p>
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