Some dates teach you about chemistry. Mine taught me about defiance. When my dinner companion tried to dictate my eating habits, I served up a response that left him red-faced and the restaurant roaring.
Mark’s red flags waved early. Between mansplaining macros and humblebragging about his bench press, he wrinkled his nose at my gnocchi order. But it was his dessert intervention that crossed the line. “She doesn’t need that,” he told the waiter, patting his flat stomach. “I prefer women who watch their figures.”
That’s when I spotted my escape—two vivacious older women enjoying a night out. “Surprise them with your best desserts,” I told the server loudly. “And put it on my check.”
Their shocked delight turned to sisterly solidarity when I joined their table. Over shared tiramisu, Elaine and Loretta—a water aerobics duo with razor-sharp wit—became my instant allies. “Honey, no man is worth your hunger,” Loretta whispered as Mark squirmed nearby.
The mic drop came when Elaine announced to the room, “That boy’s never pleased a woman—in bed or a bakery.” The laughter still echoes in my memory.
I walked out with new friends, a sugar buzz, and the waiter’s number (strictly platonic—he just wanted to applaud my performance). Mark? Let’s just say his CrossFit regimen didn’t prepare him for that kind of burn.
