Daphne Mortimer


Pay For My Dinner—Or I’ll Eat Alone

I used to insist on going splitsies—not anymore

It doesn’t take long after the beginning of dinner before a date figures out what my values are. I make it a point to drop a few hints early on in the conversation, to weed out the bad dudes (“I went to the Women’s March but found it disappointing as a radical feminist action.” “Sorry I’m late, I was reading the latest Rebecca Solnit.” “Look at that cute baby! Speaking of, how do you feel about paid family leave?”) I’m not subtle or patient about it. I don’t like wasting time in the company of bad men. And my dates end up making plenty of misguided assumptions of about who I am or what I think based on these admissions (“So what, you hate men?” “You must be pretty upset about Hillary.”) but the most ill-founded of these is the expectation that I will going splitsies on the bill.

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