Dapper Carter's 8 Rules of Dating by alan mitchell Page A

healthy
slice of peach cobbler that she ate all by herself and forty minutes more of
bullshit conversation, the waiter brought the check and handed it to me. It
always amazed me how waiters assume that the man is the one paying. I accepted
it and the bill totaled $148.00.
    I noticed Topeka reaching for her purse and wondered
if she could actually be doing what I thought she is doing? Please let it be
cash . Trying to split the bill on two credit cards was so complicated. After
all the anticipation and self talk, she pulled a tube of lip liner out of her
purse. Fuck ! $148.00 plus tip makes it $171.00 and her selfish ass didn’t
even fake a reach for it. She didn’t even bother to ask what the total of the
check was, for that matter. The least she could have done was offer to leave
the tip. I guess the silver lining to that cloud is that it only took me $171.00
to find out that this wasn’t the girl for me. It could have been worse. It was
a numbers game as far as I was concerned and my goal was to go on as many dates
as possible. If you throw enough spaghetti on the wall, sooner or later
something had to stick.
    As I begrudgingly but still gentlemanly walked Topeka to her car, I couldn’t help but feel a little sorrow. I was starting to wonder if
this was ever going to get any easier and if I could return to my old form and
be the stud I once was. I had just gotten back into the dating game and this
shit was getting old already.
    When we arrived at her car, she abruptly stopped
short and extended her hand to me as a courtesy. “Thank you for dinner.”
    Thank you for dinner? That’s it?   “My
pleasure. How about going out with me again next weekend?”
    What can I say, I was a glutton for punishment and
she looked like she had a little freak in her, judging by the low-cut camisole
she wore shopping her big ass titties. Evidently, she wanted me to notice them
or else she wouldn’t have worn something that tempting.  My mind drifted
for a moment, fantasizing about her in a pair of red thigh high hooker boots,
fishnet stockings, and a crimson and black lace corset that would make her eyes
bulge.  I wasn’t into S&M, but the look enticed me.  I didn’t
mind a woman attempting to exercise her assertiveness, but as far as being
dominated by a woman that wasn’t going to happen with me for sure.
    “Let me see.  I don’t know when I’m going to
have a sitter again. Give me a call.”
    I had never dated a woman with children before and I
wasn’t accustomed to being on a schedule. I was used to receiving all of a chick’s
attention. But more importantly, I couldn’t believe this carnivore was going to
send me home with just a handshake. Not even a hug? Maybe she should be a man
because she's got balls. She squeezed her big ass into her compact Toyota
Corolla while avoiding me trying to plant a kiss on her. She had the evasive
moves of an NFL running back.
    As she pulled off, I thought to myself how she
looked like ten pounds of sausage stuffed in a five pound bag in that clown
car. She should think about investing in an SUV.
    One thing I learned from living in L.A. is that “let’s
do lunch” doesn't really mean let’s do lunch. Or, in this case, “give me a call”
doesn't really mean give me a call. Which leads us to Dapper Carter’s third
rule of dating: Go somewhere cheap on the first date
because you may never see this girl again!

 
     
     
     
     
    If I Was Your Girlfriend
     
    My momma didn’t raise no fool, so I instantly made
the adjustment on my next date, which was a noticeable step down to TGI
Fridays. From that point forward, women were going to have to earn their
meals.  I had forgotten how much I needed to have structure in my life and
by developing rules of dating for myself I was hoping they would keep me on
track and, more importantly, out of the poor house.  It was sad but
necessary.
    I sat at the bar nursing a Guinness and picking through
a bowl of peanuts when I peeped my date’s