Going Dutch: it doesn’t go down well (Picture: Getty)

‘Shall we split the bill?’

These are the only five words more likely to kill a first date than ‘you look better in photos.’

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At least that’s what people say – it’s been a while since I’ve heard them.

My favourite way to end a good first date is with a kiss – and with paying the bill.


Yes, I admit it – I’m a woman and I like to pay on dates.

I’m far from ashamed of it; I think it’s a positive thing.

It definitely avoids situations like the one experienced by Lucy Brown, who was sent a bill for her date once she refused a second one.



Why? It’s obvious: men think paying the bill entitles them to something.

Well, it doesn’t. And I’d rather avoid the confusion entirely.

If the calculator comes out when the bill does, it’s not a go-er (Picture: Getty)

You know who else isn’t expected to pay for food? Children.

Children aren’t expected to pay because children don’t have any money.

And with that lack of money comes a distinct lack of power.

‘My money, my rules,’ my mum used to say.

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It’s usually accompanied by, ‘we’re not going to Pizza Hut today, we’re going to Pizza Express.’

That was the theme song of my childhood – the sour note ending every cinema trip.

My reasonable and logical argument that Pizza Hut had the healthy and economical never-ending ice-cream machine, and Pizza Express didn’t, fell on dead ears.

My mum didn’t like it, and so we didn’t go.

I bet she’d rather have a glass of wine than that water (Picture: Getty)

It wasn’t fair, I’d think to myself, pushing my thin-based pizza around the plate. But I couldn’t fight it.

I wasn’t paying, and so I didn’t get to choose.

Even as a child, I understood the logic behind that.

Money means power, and power means choice.

That’s why children get Saturday jobs: they want money – and power – of their own.

I’ve had a job since I was 12.

I’m not willing to give away my power to choose for a free bowl of spaghetti and half a bottle of the second cheapest wine on the menu.

I got tired of sitting at home wondering what to wear because all I’ve been given is a tube station and the promise that we’re going somewhere ‘nice.’

I got bored with ordering the burger when I wanted the fillet steak because I didn’t want to force some poor, amorous chap into paying the £100 bill.

I’d rather choose the restaurant – I want to know what to wear, and be able to order the dish I genuinely want.

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I want to live in a world where the waiters offer the first taste of wine to women as well as men and where they leave the bill in the middle of the table.



We’re both adults, right? We’re both equally capable of paying.

I’ve had enough – I’m an adult and I can pay for my own dinner.

If I want the fillet steak, I’ll order it.

And if I want the never-ending ice-cream machine, I’ll order that too.

Why not? I’ll be paying.

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