A favorite dating tale of mine comes from early in my relationship with Brad and involves, not surprisingly, food. Strangely, while I normally have a great memory for this type of thing, I can't recall whether this was our second or third "date." While I was just thinking it was the second, I usually remember our second date as a time when he was sick and I brought and "made" him soup at his apartment. (Like so many college students, our dates were often some form of hanging out.) And by "made" I of course mean dumping a can of Campbell's chicken noodle in an over-sized mug, heating in the microwave, and bringing it into the living room for him.
As I recall it, we're sitting in Brad's bedroom listening to music (if it's his, I hate it; if it's mine, he hates it) and he orders us pizza for a romantic (haha) dinner for two. When the doorbell rings and he gets his wallet, I say, "Here', I can give you half," and go for my bag or purse or whatever means I had with me for carrying money.
And my studly future husband responds, "Every little bit helps." And he takes my money.
That's it. That's the whole thing. He went downstairs and got the pizza, brought it up, and we ate it.
Every little bit helps! He actually said that! And he actually took my money. For like a $12 pizza!
This shows you just how out-of-my-18-year-old-mind-in-love with this guy I already was b/c I didn't even think twice about the experience till probably a year later. Yet even while in high school I would have balked at the idea of paying for myself while out with a guy - even if "out" was his apartment. Were a friend of mine to have asked me then, or if a daughter of mine asks me in the future, "Should I go out again with a guy who says, 'Every little bit helps" and allows me to pay for half a pizza," I would screech a resounding, "No!!!!!!!!"
So basically, I was starry-eyed.
While half-hiding his face in disgrace, Brad defends himself by noting that he was only 20 years old and he had no game and no money. I say, Veto.
On a side note, and in defense of myself in the face of my potentially non-liberated stance (feminists everywhere may be weeping), it should be said that I ate half the pizza. Not 2 pieces or even 3, but a full six pieces depite being a wee tiny thing. Translation: even though I think he should've paid for my pizza, I'm definitely not the type of girl who picks at a salad on a date. That should put my feminist conscience at ease.
I must say, however, that I don't remember having paid for a thing since, with the exception of possibly a birthday dinner or two for him before we were married - so $6 ain't too bad in the grand scheme of things :).