DATING: AL DENTE Chapter 3: Stealth Boy (go to the previous page) Anyway, that being blurted out at the most inopportune time, I decided to fetch us some alcoholic beverages at the bar upstairs. I took his order, then disappeared, wondering all the while if I could somehow ease myself down the back fire escape and into the dark of night. But being the gold-hearted woman I was, I returned with drinks in hand...just in time to see him tip a waitress as she put in front of him the exact same cola (yes, Coke) I had just climbed two flights of stairs to retrieve for him. "Oh," he said when he saw the glare I gave him, "I thought it would be better if I got my own drink..." And for the rest of the date, I DETESTED this man with every ounce of strength I could throw at him, and I ain't no pansy-ass girlie-thrower -- objects or barbs. Even though I no longer practise oral fixations of the nicotine persuasion, I always bring a pack of smokes with me on blind dates...just in case I need to prove a point in the rocker-chickest way possible. At this point I decided to call in my reinforcements -- I grabbed my pack, charged up the zippo, and for the last hour of our spine-tingling evening together I sat back, crossed my legs and sucked long and hard through disgusted lips while he showed me who was clearly NOT boss in the conversation category. One of the worst traits a man can possess is a voluntary inability to understand my sense of humour or how I operate verbally. Every sentence I threw out to him was greeted with a, "What do you mean?" or an, "I'm not sure..." or a simple, "Huh?" It was absolutely exhausting pretending to be alert while reigning supreme over such an insignificant morsel of manhood. Go on to the next page.