This is the SOUTH guy

Last night, I went out with this guy. We’ll call him Tommy Lee (not for his tats, but for his love of hard rock/heavy metal, which by the way, was weird). We had talked on the phone a couple of times, and he seemed like a nice guy, so I figured dinner wouldn’t be too awkward. I was right for the most part. He suggested a place known for its Wednesday night wine specials. It seemed like it was turning out to be a good night: I had time for a quick work out before going home and getting dressed.
As I pulled in, right on time mind you (which is HUGE for me), the new Jay Sean/ Puff Daddy song came on the radio. I of course had to finish the song out, thus making me two minutes late. Whatever. He was a nice looking guy and after the initial formalities, we decided to grab a table. The place was packed so I was immediately impressed with his choice of venue. He didn’t open the doors for me, and I was a little taken aback. This IS the south, and chivalry is NOT dead. Plus, I always notice right off the bat if a date opens the door for me or not. It indicates many things to come. I was correct in my assumptions. So, we sit down and have a glass of wine (the specials were over, so my wine, well, both glasses ended up being about 20 bucks…this is important as I’d never order more than one $10 glass of wine on my own dime) and ease into conversation. He was a computer nerd, but he had great social skills and wasn’t into dungeons or dragons or stabbing people in the neck. He made some funny comments, had a nice smile, and the date overall was nice. The food was delish and I secretly wanted to devour my entire plate but thought that might be rude to show just what a little piglet I am on a first date, especially since at this point I thought it could turn into a second date. I may or may not have made the mistake of telling him I kept a blog about bad dates, and then I told him I would not be blogging about this date (whoops) because it hadn’t been a bad date. Honestly. Until, the waitress puts the check on the table.
Because this was a first date, I nonchalantly look for my chap stick and debate going to the bathroom while thinking simultaneously he would pick up the check. Wrong. The check stayed on the table for a FULL TEN minutes (600 seconds if you’re counting) before he finally (geeze that was the LONGEST and most awkward ten minutes of my life trying to avoid making eye contact with the check) reaches for the check while saying, “well, I guess I’ll get this.” WHAT? You GUESS you’ll get it? Thanks a lot man. You flippin’ asked me on a date! You suggested the place! Why would I pay? I personally don’t feel the girl should even OFFER to pay until the third date, and even then, if the dude takes her up on her offer, that’s bad form and I probably won’t go out with you again. So, he pays (keep in mind I had $20 worth of wine on there, plus my dinner…not a bad first date from my perspective), we get up, he doesn’t open the door for me, again, and we walk to our cars. He walked me halfway to my car before turning towards his and says “have a good night. Be good!” I told him thanks for dinner, I had fun and I’d talk to him soon. He didn’t even walk me 15 more feet to my car. What if there had been a boogie man waiting for me?
This guy is from up north, but he’s lived here long enough to know in the south, things are done differently. You open the doors. You compliment your date. You walk her to her car. And you always, always pay on the first date. So, I guess I lied when I said I wouldn’t be blogging about it. Sorry, dude. Thanks for dinner.