The politics of paying for dinner
Should a man automatically buy his better half dinner when out on a date? Is the onus inevitably on the male to cough up the reddies, or in this world of gender equality would that constitute a denigr
By Trevor Davis
Taking a woman out for dinner should be a relaxing and gratifying experience, which empowers you with a sense of gentlemanliness. But all too often, there is one dilemma that threatens to detract from this fundamental principle: Money.
Going Dutch is the always safe middle ground, but there's always the uncomfortable tedium of asking the short-tempered French waiter to divide your complicated bill in two. Or the customary counting of the pennies as you empty your pockets, rather than getting it swiftly sorted with a quick chip and pin.
Paying it all yourself is the choice of champions, of course. The only loser is your bank balance. Proper etiquette demands that you don't let her see how much you've lavished upon her and that you check the total discreetly, without wincing at the sum. Waiting for her to leave the table to powder her nose is an ideal moment to get the bill settled silently and swiftly, unless of course you want to remind her who the breadwinner is.
This only really works for the salaried gent, as opposed to the overdrawn student. And surely nothing is more embarrassing than having your debit card rejected when trying to be smooth?
Well, yes, there is something more embarrassing. It's having a lady pay your way. There are few things that trample on your ego quite so acutely, yet quite so delicately – like a buffalo waltzing on your soul in eight-inch stilettos.
The waiter arrives, expecting you to fork out for the expensive meal you've just eaten. He hands you the chip and pin machine and you have to face the ignominy of passing it instead to her.
Some might say this is a heroic moment for womankind, an allegory of arriving at a moment when both sexes are equal, when they will willingly treat one another with true uniformity.
Not in my opinion. And not because of any anachronistic chauvinistic conviction, not because I nostalgically yearn for an age when men ruled and women served. Nor because I consider the fairer sex inferior. Quite the opposite: I mourn the death of chivalry.
