Last week, my friend Glenn asked what I’d done the night before via email. “Well, you’re not going to believe what happened,” I started.
“Yes, I am,” he replied. “It’s you.”
I sent the following email to Glenn in an effort to shed light on the previous night’s event. It is important to note that A) I had already been on two dates with my little holiday fling and this had never taken place before. B) He lives in Russia and the possibility I will never see him again is high. C) I am Latin, and sometimes this makes things a little tricky when you're also a feminist. D) My dog had been vomiting all day and I was stressed and then I had to take him to the vet to shell out a few hundred dollars in hopes we could figure out what was wrong with him.
Now for that email:
So… He changed his flight to be able to see me. That’s one. Two! When I got home, my dog was sick. He’d thrown up all over my bed (5 times), and multiple times on the floor and couch. Blood everywhere. Had to wash everything and dry it. Then clean my room and couch and all the other places he’d vomited. Anyway I had plans to see him around 6:00 p.m. and I had to push it back all the way to 9:30 p.m. He’d already slept over a couple of times before he left on that ten day cruise, so we agreed to go to dinner and then back to my place, then I’d take him to the airport this morning. He’s been between Miami and the cruise and Orlando vacationing here with friends for about a month (fuckin’ rich kids). The point is!
We go to dinner, right? And he’s telling me how they spent like two grand each on the cruise and how he couldn’t believe it and blah blah blah. Dinner’s swell (that word is so ridiculous but yes, I use it), and then it’s time to go home. I’m so tired by this point I cannot even begin to think about having to drive him to the airport the next day before work (mind you, I’m kind of sick, so I’m grumpy as hell). When the bill comes, this CHILD asks me if we can split it. Now… I know you’re an American progressive male and you may think this is ok, but to a Cuban woman of thirty (me), this most certainly isn’t. Especially when he has lots of money and just spent a gazillion dollars partying it up on a ship somewhere in the Atlantic. I told him, “Yes, I did mind,” then I went to the bathroom to do a bit of Woooosaaaaaaaaaaaah breathing exercises because I felt like slapping his beautiful porcelain face.
I came back with a little pasted-on smile and he paid for dinner and we left. Then… I promptly drove on, but instead of to my house, I dropped him back off at his hotel. This poor child was freaking out. Like, “Oh my God why are you being like this and I’m so sorry and this isn’t such a big deal and in my country people do this all the time and yada yada.” I’m all, “Please just take your bags out of my car,” to which he refuses because he’s so flustered as he’s trying to get me to accept his apology. So in the middle of this wind storm I packed all his bags out while my dress is blowing in the wind and my underwear is probably showing and was all, “It was nice to meet you,” leaving him there at his hotel door.
On the upside, at least my poor animal hasn’t thrown up anymore. $360 dollars worth of vet bills later… I get home and I have about ten messages from this kid apologizing and it got me thinking… Did I overreact? Because in spite of everything, I don’t think I did.
A few things…
1. This is why I never want to have fucking animals!
2. I didn't know you two already had a.... "relationship" before last night’s date.
3. You are correct that as an American male, as a progressive male, as a FEMINIST male, I do not believe in the man treating the woman to dinner as a default option. However, I am also a class warrior and if he has a lot of discretionary income he's spending and he's on vacation, it's not unreasonable to think he is going to pay. SECOND HOWEVER, you, as a modern woman (Cuban or not) should have laid this out to him if it was such a big deal.
4. Was it an overreaction? Who the fuck cares! You don't know this guy. You will (probably) never see him again. AND he's a twenty-two year old child while you are a GROWN ass woman.
5. You’re going to be single forever.