S&TSG - Single & Skint
My week started off badly, with a phone call from the bank. ‘Miss Ramsden, you appear to have gone over your overdraft limit quite substantially. Are you aware of this?’ I wasn’t. What’s more, I still had two weeks left until pay day. Surely there was some mistake? So, at lunchtime, I stormed into the bank, with all the grace of Sylvester Stallone in stilettos, and demanded to see the manager.
‘I think somebody’s defrauded my card,’ I declared, torn between crying and cursing. A quick look at my on-screen statement and my toes started to curl with embarrassment. Some thieving swine hadn’t sadly racked up R500 in a swanky bar, R1 000 in Woolworths and R1 500 from an ATM in Sandton City. I noticed the bank manager’s raised eyebrow as he clocked my shiny new handbag and I had to confess who the culprit was who’d played fast and loose with my bank account: it was me. And now all I had to look forward to was endless nights at home, with nothing but my expensive new bag for company.
There’s only one thing worse than being broke. And that’s being broke and single. If you’re a cash-strapped couple, at least you can spend evenings cuddled up on the sofa or weekends in the bedroom. But when it’s only you, a bottle of cheap red and a Jackie Collins bonkbuster before bedtime – well, that’s just rubbish.
Worse still is being asked on a date when your bank account is redder than Dorothy’s ruby slippers. If a man asks you out, chances are he’ll pick up the bill, but I like to at least offer to go Dutch. Secondly, the key to a hot date is in the preparation: a new outfit, a haircut – hell, even a bikini wax if you’re feeling really hopeful. Finally, what if you need a get-out clause? There’s nothing worse than being stuck on a date-from-hell in a remote bar without enough cash for an emergency taxi home. Trust me, I’ve been there for four hours and it wasn’t pleasant.
I’m not against budget dates – some of my favourites have been low-cost picnics in the park or strolls on the beach. But I’ve learnt that scrimping on a first date can be a recipe for disaster. Like the time l agreed to go on a blind date set up by a friend: Date Boy told me excitedly beforehand, ‘There’s this amazing Chinese restaurant I’d like to take you to.’ Brilliant, l thought, as l headed to meet him with an empty tummy and a head full of expectation. But when we arrived at a café-cum-kebab-house, with neon signs screaming, ‘Two courses and a drink for under R50!’, I half expected Ashton Kutcher to jump out and tell me I’d been ‘punk’d’ (if only). I spent the next two hours sitting in a plastic chair, eating chow mein out of a polystyrene dish, wishing I’d worn my jeans instead of my best party dress. And, sadly, my date turned out to be more bland than my sweet-and-sour chicken balls.
Thing is, I don’t expect to be whisked away in a chartered helicopter for a first date (although that would be cool). It’s just that cutting corners from the start doesn’t bode well for the future. Like my date with Internet Ian*, a guy I met on a dating website. Minutes after spotting him and before I could say, ‘Hi,’ he piped up with, ‘Just so you know, I’m in the middle of buying a house right now so I only have R100 left in the world. How does it feel that I’m spending my last hundred on you?’
Actually, it felt really uncomfortable. All I could mutter was a meek, ‘Er, shall I buy this round?’, followed by some tedious small talk before he told me at 9pm that he’d ‘let me go’. Thanks, I thought, after nursing a vodka and orange (bought by me) for two of the longest hours of my life.
You see, I think first dates should be seen as a long-term investment. We devote time, energy and money to building a great shoe collection, or saving the deposit for a flat. So why not put the same expenditure into your love life? J.Lo might insist that Love Don’t Cost A Thing, but I beg to differ. When it comes to relationships, you get out what you put in. And I like to think I’m worth slightly more than a crumpled hundred Rand note.
*Names have been changed.