Free Kismetology by Jaimie Admans

dates you’ve been on, or you’re too busy for dating.
And if you’re too busy for dating, then you’re definitely too busy for being
set up with my mother. But, my options are limited, and I’m just waiting until
Mum starts asking if there are any more men ready yet. What does she think I’m
doing? Creating them from a test tube? Pulling them out of a hat like a white
rabbit? Turning toads into non-princes in my underground laboratory? So I
decide to give this one the benefit of the doubt. It can’t hurt, right? And if
he’s a creep then the waitresses can always put laxatives in his food. (Oh yes,
I’ve filed that information away for safekeeping.) We book a Monday night
dinner at Belisana. I object to being anyone’s last resort, but honestly, I’m
somewhat desperate. I’ll take any resort at all by this point.
    This guy is number four—" Attractive, youthful, 60
year old with GSOH. " Or Andy, as he tends to be known. Yes, I actually
got his name. That’s a good omen, right?
    As usual, I’m late. Andy is already there, seated at
"my" table. I notice straight away that his advert wasn’t a lie. He
actually is very youthful looking, and he’s got short brown hair. He stands up
and smiles when I arrive and I notice his bright blue eyes. Youthful? Check.
Attractive? Check.
    "Hi." He smiles at me. "You’re the one named
Mackenzie, right?"
    I nod and smile back. You’re the one named Mackenzie,
right? We spoke on the phone yesterday, do you have more than one woman to
meet today? I’m coming over to you and saying hello, am I likely to not be the
Mackenzie you were expecting? Should I be this judgemental? Should I be
analysing every sentence that every man says to me? I think the answer is
probably not.
    "So, Andy," I say conversationally as I sit down.
"You were late responding."
    "Yeah, I was."
    Just like that. No sorry. No "I was out of town."
No "My dog/Nana/goldfish died." Not even an "I was busy."
    Holly arrives at the table and places a plateful of food in
front of Andy. She smiles at me sympathetically.
    "Did you get many responses to your ad?" I ask
him.
    "Quite a few, yeah. I’m a catch, right?" He opens
his mouth and winks at me, revealing a gob full of spare ribs. Why do men do
that? Why do they have to open their mouth to close their left eye?
    Oh yeah. Such a catch that you’re eating right now? Such a
catch that the waitress has just placed a plate of barbequed spare ribs in
front of you. You couldn’t even wait for me to arrive before ordering?
    I spot Dan on his way back into the kitchen and wave at him.
    "You know that guy?" Andy says immediately.
    "Yeah, he’s my boyfriend."
    "Oh. Isn’t it bad manners to wave at your boyfriend when
you’re on a date with me?"
    "Isn’t it bad manners to order food before your date
arrives?"
    "What does it matter? We’re paying for our own.
Oh." He suddenly looks up at me. "You’re not one of those women who
expect the man to pay are you? One of those bitches who prattle on and on about
equal pay rights and then refuse to pay for their own food?"
    I shrug. "No, I’m not one of them, but I consider
chivalry to be good manners."
    "Then you won’t mind me treating you like an inferior
who isn’t clever enough to understand the big grown up man talk all night then.
If you want chivalrous, I can do chivalrous, but if you want to be treated like
an equal, you can be expected to be one on all levels."
    Is there even a response to that?
    "So," I say, in an effort to change the subject.
I’m in half a mind to get up and walk out right now, but maybe he has a point.
Maybe I do expect too much from a man. And I’ve got to give this one a go. I
did walk out of the last date after all. "What do you do for work?"
    "I’m an accountant. You?"
    "Nail technician," I say, not really wanting to
talk about me, and definitely not wanting to talk about work.
    "How do you expect to be treated as an equal when you
do a stupid, girly job like that?"
    "Excuse me, it is