Dating in China

I went on a date last October. I've been on a few since then, but none quite like this one. I've relayed my experiences to a few members of my family, but until now I kept the bulk of the details under wraps from most of my friends.
Enough time has passed that I doubt I'll face any reprocussions.

And if I'm wrong... well, that might be kinda funny too.

* * * * *

I'm moving to China.

In Chinese culture, the responsibility to mate does not fall onto the shoulders of the man and woman in question, but on the families of the man and woman in question.
I like this idea. Dad did a pretty good job picking Mom and Mom did an equally good job picking Dad and so... I pretty much trust their opinions. But more than my trust of their collective opinions, it would save me from having to go on any more dates like the one I went on Saturday.

I'm trying this "traditional dating" thing with a girl I barely know (which, in itself, is one of the familiar traits of "traditional dating") and decided that the first date went well enough to warrant a second.
Everything seemed to align itself perfectly. On the phone the night before, I told Casey (that's my date's name, Casey.) that I had friends coming in from New York and I'd like to meet up with them after dinner. Not wanting to be rude or give the impression that I put Casey second, I told her that I'd love for her to meet my N.Y. friends. She accepted the invitation and added that it was funny I mentioned my friends because she too had buddies visiting from out-of-town and tomorrow was their last night.
It was my bright idea to suggest we start our night eating dinner with her friends while capping it off with mine.
Voila. Perfect.
Everything was in order.
We decided to head into Boston's illustrious Back Bay area to eat at a seafood restaurant.

What Casey didn't think to tell me and what I didn't think to ask was how old her friends were. This prior knowledge might have asuaged the look of shock that crossed my face when we arrived at the restaurant, and two 40-year-old Brits greeted us at the door.
Kisses all around.
As it was a "last-night-in-America" get-together, it wasn't only Casey and I joining the two Brits but two other couples and some oddball who I believe to be a spinster as well.
We sat down and immediately everyone ordered wine.
First of all, I like sodapop, okay? I do. I wanted a Dr. Pepper. But everyone was wearing argyle sweaters or carrying fancy clutches (or should I say, "clutching fancy clutches") I decided I'd have to settle for a glass of water and get the Dr. Pepper later. I told the waiter that "I'll just have a water" and quickly added "...for now" in hopes of staving off a judgemental glance from him after the other eight people around me all ordered wine.
I'm sure the waiter either thought I was a recovering alcoholic desperately clinging to sobriety amidst my wine-guzzling mates or that I was years younger than I looked and couldn't yet drink legally.
It should also be noted that wine goes through me like a Nascar in the final three laps of the Indianapolis 500. I drink the stuff like it was grape juice and I imagined myself, at some point, calling the Brit wife a "tart" and taunting the spinster to "get out more" in a wine-induced frenzy of indecent behavior.
Water it is.
Then came the dinnertime conversation.

Being 25 is an extremely awkward age.
Being 15 was physically awkward, but being 25 is socially, the most awkward I can remember feeling. College kids have all turned up their noses at my supposed neveau professionalism, but I'm so new to my post-college existence that I haven't the establishment that 30-year-old members of society have. I'm like Oliver Twist out here!
Look, if you wanna talk about sports or movies or Eastern seaboard ghettos, I'm all over it. Unfortunately, the Brits, the spinster, a married couple who were both balding, and two remaining completely nondescript human beings decided to speak about such barn buring topics as the Roman tyranny over England centuries ago, energy resources in Belgium, and the best outlets of information throughout the globe. *
There are about eleven people on earth who would find it uninteresting to learn that 24 hours earlier I, me, Adam - personally shook the hand of Bruce Springsteen - and seven of them were sitting at this Goddamned table! I spent the bulk of the evening praying that no one ask my opinion on whatever topic was currently being discussed. It was like being in Mr. Averbach's 10th grade history class all over again. I kept coaching myself, prompting myself in hopes of remaining invisible amongst the other eight:

Smile Adam, smile Adam.
Don't forget to nod. Nod knowingly, Adam. Keep nodding.
Oooh! The speaker is looking you in the eye; quick! Avoid eye-contact! Avoid eye-contact! Goddammit, look elsewhere! Find something on the table that needs your attention NOW!
The fork! Fiddle with the fork! Keep fiddling.
Drink some water. Drink some more, but not too much. Don't finish your water before they all finish their wine because you'll have to ask for more water and remind everyone that you aren't drinking wine.
Alright, enough time has passed. Look at the speaker again.
Smile Adam, smile Adam.
Don't forget to nod...

...and so-on.

I realized something about Casey. She's extremely sophisticated. She's kind, but also extremely regal, which made me wonder if she thought I was regal, which we all know I am not. For all I knew, I still had a piece of beef jerky stuck in my teeth from lunch. How sophisticated can I be that I not only eat beef jerky, but occasionally run the risk of allowing it to remain in my teeth from one meal to the next?! But even Casey, who apparently befriends 40-year-old resource industrialists from London, had little to say during the dinner, which meant that she and I said very little to one another, because Lord knows I was so afraid of being exposed as a doofus I dared not ask Casey about her favorite shellfish.
I took every chance I had to make some sort of comment, interject with some witty one-liner. I even danced with the idea of saying things with a British accent, but I was sure to have embarrassed myself had I done so. Instead I spent most of the dinner hiding my frequent yawns.
And when not hiding my yawns, I spent the remainder of the dinner in tears, because the spinster kept cracking chunks of lobster into my retinas. It took all the self-control I could muster to refrain from leaning in close to the woman and calmly suggesting that her eating habits are why no one will ever love her. She seemd to really like me, however. She kept deferring to me while she talked and nudged me when she thought something was funny.
It was because of this that I opted not to crush her soul.

The lovely night ended with the check. I had decided early on that I would not be paying for Casey's meal tonight. Technically, she owed me a meal (as we decided on the first date which I paid for) and each meal was, like $30. That's not second-date money. That's engaged-to-be-married money and none of you will convince me otherwise. The Brits pulled open the check (with a final tally that topped $350.00) and asked if we all just wanted to split the final tally nine ways...

!...
...?
(no, I was right the first time)...
...!

...I'm not cheap, okay? If you know me, you know that I'm looser with money than I should be. But these people got wine, champagne, and dessert. Heck, the spinster got a $50.00 lobster dish! And I had just spent a good ten minutes thinking about what I'd owe on the bill while pretending to listen to the balding woman discuss her hiking trip in Zion. I hade a crabcake combo and water.
That's it.
$29.00 including tip.
But the male Brit said, "if we add in tax and split it equally it should only be about $45-$50 bucks."
I almost choked on the last portion of my sixth water.
Shit. Pardon my language, but shit.
How can I get out of this without exposing myself as a cheap, teary-eyed, MTV-watching, AA member? Then it occured to me: the spinster didn't drink champagne, nor did she have any dessert. That stupid spinster was gonna get me out of this mess.
"You know, I don't know that everyone got dessert." I say.
"Yeah, and I didn't have champagne either." The spinster piped up.
THE KICK IS UP... AND IT'S GOOD! Yesss! Thanks spinster. You just saved me 20 bucks.
I spent exactly $29.00 not a penny more.

Dinner didn't end for another 45 minutes after we paid the check (it never does) and it was kisses all around when we all parted, but I had had it by then.
My hand was out, shake it if you want, but there will be no kisses.
The dinner took over two hours longer than I had planned, so we ended up not meeting up with my New York friends as planned (I saw them the next day though). Instead I drove her home on a rainy, dreary night. And if you feel like you know nothing about Casey after this entire story, it is because I too, know nothing about her.
Essentially, the second date furthered nothing between us. I don't know if I'll go on a third date with her, but I do know that if we happen to make arrangements, we're going bowling.
You hear me?
Bowling.
Followed by pizza slices.

And if she doesn't like it, she can go to China where they'll take care of all of this stuff for her.

============================================================

* The general concensus was that the best informational resource is found in the BBC network followed by England's newspaper The Gaurdian. No one seemed to even consider MTV News when I brought it up.