The Prowl: Loose Lips Sink Dates

A few months ago, I went on a forgettable date with an economist. Little did I know that my stories about the dinner would eventually get back to him.

Like many impressionable young girls, my Dad often gave me "life lessons.” The majority of these lessons involved, for unclear reasons, advice on food storage (pears should be placed fat-end down) or ways in which deductive and inductive reasoning could be used simultaneously to solve problems.  Again, for unclear reasons, these problems frequently involved either ions or enzymes, or sometimes both if blue corn chip consumption was involved.  On occasion though, he would give me advice for building relationships with "young chaps."  One such lesson detailed what I should do if I was on a date and there was ever an awkward conversational pause.  Completely seriously, he explained that in such a situation I should say "So about those bonobos in Madagascar...." This is an especially good strategy if I am on a date with a botanist, as it is well known that bonobos eat plants.

About six months ago, I agreed to go on one (1) date with an economist that I had met at a friend's party.  Conversation was not exactly moving along in any kind of vibrant or even continuous way, especially after he was decidedly not amused by my financial models joke (I would tell this but there is a lot of build up), so I decided to give my Dad's advice a try.  After all, it was not exactly as if either of us anticipated a second round, so why not be at least a little outrageous?  After an appropriately lengthy pause in between forced exchanges of items on our respective resumes, I asked him "about those bonobos in Madagascar."  Needless to say, he was not nearly as amused by this as I was (probably because he was not a botanist).  When the bill came, which was not a moment too soon, he asked that we split it and that seemed to be that.

The next day, I told our one (1) mutual friend that the previous evening had not exactly been the beginning of a budding romance.  Of course I told her about how I am socially maladjusted and how he did not find that charming.  I also told her that he had not picked up the bill.  I was not complaining, or indicating that he should have, simply reporting for the sake of underscoring my point that he did not seem to like me very much and that she should hold off picking out her bridesmaid dress.

On Monday morning, six months after my encounter with the economist, he sent the following email:

I am sorry that I did not pick up the full bill at (INSERT FANCY RESTAURANT). It was rude of me and I should not have done this.  I heard this story from so many people, known, and less known, that I came to the conclusion that probably you are expecting some sort of remuneration. I do not remember how much dinner cost, but if you let me know, I have no issues sending you a check.

Once again, apologies for what happened and hope that you're otherwise well.

Until I got this email, I always thought that the most memorable part of the evening was how I actually did what my Dad told me and made a complete ass of myself for the sake of my own personal amusement.  Evidently, though, I am running around D.C. demanding retribution for a social slight that I was not aware had even occurred?

I immediately replied, arguably in an overly placating tone, that he had no reason to apologize and I was the one who had been childish.  I told him I was sorry that he had heard about our date from so many sources and that compensation really was not necessary.  I was bordering on mortification as he essentially accused me of being petty and cheap, so letting the issue go was the most diplomatic response I could think of to avoid further mutual embarrassment.

This incident, however, speaks to how insular D.C. really is.  His email made it sound like I had phoned up the Washington Post complaining that he had not paid for dinner.  More accurately, perhaps, given that I suspect the Post still has some sense of journalistic standards, I assume that D.C.'s high school-like network of young professionals worked their magic in a modern-day e-game of telephone.  I told one friend, who in turn told others about what happened, although in an embellished form.  Eventually, the tale had taken on mythic proportions among the inter-connected 25-35 demographic about some guy's flagrant disregard of social graces as he went out with some crazy girl who wanted to talk about Madagascar.