Dear Diary,

I am so naive.

I don't know why!! For some reason I always just give people the benefit of the doubt.

There is another guy I met dancing, Bernard. He is an older gentleman that sat with my friend Lacey and I while we were at the club. Distinguished, in a suit, with a French accent, he entertained us, offered us food and drink, which we declined. Danced with each of us, always respectful and civil. Tsked at other men's bad behavior (groping and such). We talked openly of many things. I told him I had a boyfriend, just because I always tell that to guys I meet in the club. He said it didn't matter, he was just very happy to have the company of two lovely ladies. (with French accent, that sounds like luvlee ladeeeez...).

Okay.

Why did I give him my phone number? I don't know. Guess I thought he was genuine. He wanted to know if I was going dancing last week, but that's the week I hurt my back at the gym, so I said no. He said, well I would love to see you, how about Saturday. No, I said, I think I will be there on Wednesday.

Wednesday? he said, sounding annoyed. I don't want to wait till Wednesday to see you.

That was the first red flag. Uh, excuse me, Bernie, but a) it's my fucking back we're talking about here, and b) I already told you I have a boyfriend, and c) a life beyond that. Bad attitude.

So I just didn't call him again. Then I felt bad. He's always so particular, "Only call me after 1pm." So I decided to call him and tell him I'd see him on Wednesday (why I don't know, cause I can't stand anyone being mad at me?) but I accidently called before 1pm and a woman answered. Hmmm... I didn't say anything, hung up.

I ended up not going dancing that week either. Bernard left me a message, saying, "I'm so sorree you act like zat." So I felt bad again, and called him. I said I was too tired to go dancing, he suggested we just have dinner. I agree. (?!)

So last night I meet him for dinner. It's going okay, a nice Italian place, but now Bernard is talking about how he likes me, and in the past it would bother him so much, but now that he is older he is over it. It's an extremely uncomfortable situation for me, since why does he have to talk about it? I don't mention calling and having the woman answer, but I do ask him if he's married (he says no) and if he lives alone (he says no, he has kind of a 'complicated situation'- uh oh.)Then he is asking questions about my "boyfriend" (which for all intents and purposes in my imagination is Frank, so I can keep the story straight), and of course criticizing everything about him. Why don't we live together? If you really love someone you want to see them every day. He goes on to say some women have affairs...

"Not me," I say, "I'm very monogamous. No affairs. I don't have affairs, Bernard."

This is where the evening takes a turn. Now it seems Bernard's true intentions are revealed. He goes on to talk about the many women he's dated, telling me umpteen stories of how women have followed him, forced their phone numbers upon him, invited him out to coffee-- how beautiful they were, one was a beauty-pageant winner, etc...

I don't see the point. Not only is this extremely boring, it's extremely BORING. And rude, besides. If we are supposed to be friends, why do I give a shit about Bernard's supposed irresistable charm? And speaking of irresistable charm (irresistable only to himself, apparently, since I'm finding it easier and easier to resist) what happened to all of Bernard's gentlemanly manners? Any gentleman would know better than to monopolize a dinner conversation with tales of his past affairs.

Another deal-breaker: the check comes, and Bernard pays; I don't even offer anything, since at this point I feel the narcissistic Frenchie can pay for dinner, since he's been so untruthful and rude. "Would you like change?" the waiter who picks up the bill asks. "Well, look at it!" says Bernard. "I'm sorry sir, just asking," said the waiter.

Now. Having some experience in the waitressing field, I know this is considered very bad manners. A server should never ask if a customer wants change, they should just bring it. If the customer wants to tip you the whole of the extra amount, they'll tell you when you come back to the table, or they will leave it for you.

So the waiter made a faux pas. But I think what Bernard does is even worse.

"I waz going to live 'eem the 'ole amount," says Bernard conspiratorally while the waiter walks away, "But now 'e will be lucky if I geeve 'eem seven!"

"But Bernard," I tell him, "That's not even our waiter. The other guy's our waiter. This one was just grabbing the check for us."

"Does not matter," says Bernard.

Now I am really, really turned off. I can see Bernard's irritation at being asked about the change, but if someone is a poor tipper, I can't like them. I've worked too hard in too many restaurants, I know too much about the job and what it's like to scramble for tips. The service was good from our waiter, and now he would be shafted because his co-worker made a mistake.

Leaving the restaurant, Bernard makes other comments, how he doesn't see the sense in my relationship, why I should have to work so hard, live alone, etc. I suppose implying that if I were with him, everything would be easy, I wouldn't have to work and he'd support me.

This kind of talk can appeal to most women. As I've complained of many times, trying to be a creative person in a corporate, material world is difficult. Of course there is a fantasy that someone will come and take the burden off so I can do what I want. But what I realize walking with Bernard is, there is always a price. You don't really have freedom if someone else is paying your way. There are always strings attached- sex or companionship or just being a sounding board for some narcissistic asshole. Or the sense that the person has some kind of ownership over what you do with the free time or money they provide you. It's not about love. Nope.

I can't get away from Bernard fast enough. I know I may see him around at the club, that's unavoidable, but I will never waste my time going to dinner with him again.

"Goodbye, thank you very much," I say.

"You are so sweet, you should be mine," are his parting words.

Oh, Bernard, I am so sorree you act like zat.

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